Gealach Breithe
by Secondhand Soul
Summary: Cecil Harvey is a strange man whose heart is filled with a Darkness that he knows he must fight at any cost. When his country, Baron, sets out to capture the mysterious and powerful Crystals it is Cecil who stands against them. FFIV Novel. No spoilers.
1. A Priori

**Prophecy of The Gaelach Blade**

Born from jaws of Dragon Great

And cast to Heaven's Silver Door

The Hero rides this Gentle Beast

He is of Light, is Dark no more.

He will guide the Moon to Light

Remove The Shadow with his hand

Earth will roll in Harvest Gold

It will become the Promised Land.

The Harbinger lurks at every turn

And the Moon burns wild, Red as Blood

Where Master sleeps in darkened core

To be smote by the Crystal Flood.

When Hatred passes from this plain

When both men have found their brother

Fate will violently tear then away

To the Blood Moon one, to the Earth the other.

_A Priori_

That day was the coolest day in many, the first day of autumn after a stifling summer. The leaves of the trees were still painted green in defiance, the last sign of rebellion against the coming of winter, but it was in vain. Soon the leaves would turn red, orange and gold, falling to the ground only to shrivel up into brown. lifeless nothings.

Through the early morning fog trapsed a small troop of nobles, a court of uncommonly fair and attractive individuals, several on horseback, the rest on foot.

In the lead was a tall, blonde man with a large beard, mounted upon a black stalion. He was wearing robes of rich red and blue, a golden diadem circling his pale brow. He had a kind, noble face with grey-green eyes that sparkled with laughter.

He was accompanied by two women upon white mares, both of them blonde.

One was taller, with ashen hair cropped so short that it hung in a bob about her chin. She wore the emblem of the Black Magi upon her leather vest, and sat with a proud, ridgid back, her sapphire eyes glinting with confidence. Beside her strode a very tall man with a stern expression upon his face, which would be pleasant to look at had it not been so severe. His hair was worn very long, the color of wet sand, falling down his back in a loose pony tail. His amber eyes shone with dignity that only a noble Dragoon of Baron would dare posess.

The other woman was petite and shapely, her hair a flowing blonde mane about her slender shoulders. She rode bare back, a diamond pin upon her own vest, signifying her rank amoung the White Magi. Her own sapphire eyes, so like her cousin's, shone with intellegence and courage. Beside her mare strolled a broad jawed man with an amiable face, his eyes a pale green, the color of seafoam, and shining with the vigour of life. He was stocky, with short, perpetually messy dark brown hair, which stuck out amoung his fair companions. He, too, had the dignity of a Dragoon.

Behind them was a small entourage of soldiers, and though they were not wearing heavy armor on this routine excursion, all were armed. All wore stern expressions on their faces, despite the fact that they should not fear an assassianation so close to Vangrad, the capital city of Baron, which surrouned the Palace, more like a fortress than a opulent mansion. Had they been farther away, closer to Petuin, a city under the control of Troia and run by the anit-Baronian group Brier Rose, they may have reason to fear, but as it were, Thomas XVI of Baron felt they were overreacting. This was no more than a morning stroll for His Highness, who loved to survey his lands and greet his people.

Suddenly, the woman with the mane of hair froze, glancing over at the King with a startled expression, her heart shaped face resplendant in the pale morning sun, "do you hear something, Mi'lord?"

The King of Baron pulled back on his reigns, staring into the trees that they rode beside. Holding up a Wyvern-skin gloved hand he silenced his escort, keen to take the advice of fair Joanna Farrell, known for her sharp senses. As he sat as still as statuary, barely daring to breath, he heard what he thought to be the sobbing hiccups of a small child rising from the depths of the little wood. Dismounting, he motioned for amber eyed Richard Highwind and kind faced Matthew Farrell to follow him, departing from his guard and stepping into the shadowed wood.

The three companions found themselves suddenly plunged into a world where monsters roamed, preying on the weak and young. Overhead the leaves and branches of trees extended to form a patch work canopy of green, brown, and crisp blue. Beneath them was thick foliage and a carpet of long decaying leaves, trampled by the monsters and wildlife that inhabited the wood. They traveled a little way, and froze at the base of a great, gnarled oak.

The tree had to be ancient, for it was as wide as a castle turret and nearly as tall, unnaturally so, for an oak, in fact. Its roots protruded from the ground, a sign of a long-ago storm, forming a small cove, which was likely inhabited by the smaller, sneakier wildlife of the woodlands. Its leaves were fast changing, perhaps a sign of the wisdom of the tree, which insticntivly knew, after hundereds of years, that there was no point in fighting the change of winter.

The sound rose again, this time nearer. It was Matthew Farrell who discovered the source when he looked down, spotting the form of a crouched toddler in the small cove. Tactfully, he knelt down, extending his hand as if to signify that he was not a threat, and speaking very softly, "you can come out. We're friends. We're not going to hurt you."

Still whimpering, the child emerged into the early morning light.

At first the three men could not breath, because this darling child bore a strong resemblance to two people they had not set eyes on in an excess of nine years, but the moment he crept into Matthew's arms to sob desperately time began to move again.

He was a darling boy, no more than two, with wide, staring emerald eyes that trusted with a glance, as only a child's eyes could. He had blue tinged lips set on his cloud-pale face, and wavy ringlets of snowy hair that clung to his dirty and tear-streaked face. Tiny fingers dug into the material of Matthew's shirt, entreating help.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked softly, brushing his fingers through the boy's hair in a way that suggested he was the father of a small child.

"Teddy! Teddy no come!" the boy wailed, conveying such despair that Richard cringed, his usually stony features conveying the greatest sympathy for this child, who had so obviously been left to die.

It was the King, to the surprise of both Richard and Matthew, who spoke to the boy next, deigning to soil his robes as he knelt in the dirt and took the boy from Matthew's arms. "What is your name, little boy?"

"Cecil," he sniffed, something about the King calming him, his green eyes still leaking tears.

"Cecil," the King repeated in a soft, admiring tone ,"would you like to come home with me?"

"But… But Daddy! Teddy!" the boy protested, shaking his head vehemently; why did it seem childeren care so deeply, even for those who hurt them?

"Cecil… When they come you'll be safe at my home," the king said, knowing all to well that no one would come for dearest little Cecil ," then you can go back home."

"Oh," Cecil paused as if to think, and then nodded, "okay."

Richard and Matthew exchanged a meaningful look behind the King's back, and followed him as he led them back to the troop. The angry look on their faces disapeared when they saw the boy held tightly to the King's chest, replaced with confusion and concern.

"Sir…," the still-young First Luitenant Darias Baigan II began, but the King silenced him with a look.

"This child is to be cared for. He is to be fed and cleaned and given a room in the nursery when we return," the tone he spoke in made it clear that the King was taking full responsibility for the boy. "He belongs to Baron now."

"What am I to tell my father, sir?" Lt. Baigain asked the King.

"Tell the Lord Captain that we have a new addition to our happy family. Tell him that Cecil Harvey is to be treated with the same deference any heir I would produce would be treated with," the King took a moment to gently brush a strand of hair out of the sleeping boy's face. "As I have already said, he belongs to Baron now."

No one asked what the King meant. It was clear enough by looking at him.

Richard and Matthew exchanged another look, but did not dare to speak. They knew after the fiasco with His Highness' wife the King would never remarry. Perhaps, they both thought, just perhaps, this was Fate. In some twist of destiny this boy arrived to fufill this purpose.

Baron surely must be blessed beyond all other nations to reviece such a gift, Matthew decided. The innocence in those green eyes was surely a blessing.

Richard, more cynical, was not so sure. He thought the boy could prove to be a troublesome burden to them all. After all, he had the same strange, features as _that _man.

How the Fates above laughed at the men who were both, in their own way, correct.


	2. Chapter One: An Advent

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter One: The Advent

Above and below extended a universe of swirling galaxies, spirals of colors in a world of inky blue-black. Light, however, rippled across the surface, pulsating waves of light against the smooth crystal surfaces of the wall, floor, and ceiling. The light emanated from a large, prismic jewel that sat upon an altar, blue as a sky, frozen in place forever.

At the foot of the altar knelt a man, his hands folded in prayer, two guards standing stoically by his side. He was an older man with brilliant red hair, resilient against the gray of age, wrapped in the folds of a massive cloak, a gnarled oaken staff resting on the floor by his side.

The perfect silence he was steeped in was all at once shattered by a battering ram, which shook the foundation of the room, causing the crystal to flicker. The two Magi guards beside the Elder turned their heads to stare at the doors, trembling under the force, and then looked back to the kneeling man, who now stood, his staff grasped in white knuckled hands. His timing was perfect, for as he stood, the door gave a last, great groan, and fell to a floor with a resounding thud.

Into the room walked a demon.

He was garbed in armor filled with the taint of darkness, black as hell, his helm the image of a monster from the deepest depths of the Underworld, adorned with monstrous and unwieldy horns. The sword he held in his right hand was the size of a dragon's fang, obsidian black and dripping deep crimson droplets, defiling the sacred altar of The Crystal. His armor made a soft clinking noise as he advanced, amplified into a harsh grating noise through the dead silence of the chamber.

He was followed by a small group of fair haired, pale skinned men, garbed in red tunics and body armor, which barely made a noise as they drifted behind their leader.

"Relinquish the Crystal or face the same fate as your brethren," demanded the man in the black body armor.

The young white mage recoiled in shock at the sound of his voice, his pale blue eyes widening in response. It was not so much the demands he made, those were only to be expected of pirates, but the sound of his voice that had caught the young man off guard. It was not a harsh voice at all; in fact, it was calm and rather pleasant to listen to, a kind sort of voice. On top of this, the voice was young, and the white mage realized with a jolt that this pirate was just a kid, younger than himself. The white mage exchanged a glance with his sister, and he could clearly see an expression on her face that mirrored his thoughts.

When no one spoke, the pirate continued, "please. I'd rather not shed any more unnecessary blood."

No one moved. No one even breathed.

Sighing sadly, the man raised his sword and took a threatening step forward, though none of his subordinates moved to assist him. The White Magi's sister began to cast a spell, but the black clad man had eagle eyes. He raised his sword over his head and slashed in a downward arc, facing the casting Black Magi. The White Magi would have laughed at him had a sinister looking wave not bloomed from the tip of the sword, sending his sister hurtling into a wall and knocking her unconscious.

"Will you surrender?" he asked, and now that he was closer the Magi could hear how hollow his voice sounded, even from behind his mouth plate.

The Elder, his dark brown irises grim, stared this Dark Knight in the eyes ", I will never surrender. Not as long as I still draw breath."

The brigand 'tsk'ed, raised his left hand, fingers outstretched, and said in a cold, angry voice, "sleep."

Like a snake, a sleek, black gas uncoiled from his open palm, weaving around them both and sending them into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Eyes leaden, the white Magi fell to the ground, his last sight as he drifted off into slumber was that of the Dark Knight's blood stained hands gripping the Crystal and snuffing out its light. As he finally closed his eyes, he could have sworn he heard the Dark Knight mutter to the Elder, "Forgive the transgressions of the Red Wings."

XXX

Everyone in the kingdom of Baron knew of Cecil Harvey.

Sir Baigan, Captain of the Royal Guard, said he was a celebrity among the women, and ideal of perfection for the men, and an idol to admire for the children. Really, they only knew him because of his positively outlandish appearance and his blood stained and darkened armor.

Cecil hated the attention.

His greatest ambition in life was to quietly serve King Thomas XVI of Baron, his savior and his Lord. He wanted to spend his days with his two best friends, or up in the air with the Red Wings. He wanted to live a quiet life away from the public eye, but Fate had not dealt him such a pleasurable hand. Thus, he had been unwillingly thrust into awkward celebrity.

The sound of his armor striking the stone floor resounded through out the hallway as he climbed the steps, ascending to the very top of the Northwest Tower. It was here that Cecil had taken residence since he was old enough to be able to dress himself without the aid of a maid. It overlooked the lake and had a view of the twin moons, which Cecil relished because he felt somehow more at ease closer to the sky. The room was not large, but it was the only home Cecil could remember.

Underneath his footsteps was an echo, another pair of leather clad feet following him up the winding staircase to the very precipice of the tower. They belonged to Cecil's cohort since that hot summer's day almost eleven years ago, when the two had finally settled their differences to rescue a head-strong young lady from the monster infested woods outside of Baron Castle. Cecil had been nine, his companion, Kain Highwind, ten.

"I want the details from you," Kain ordered in his mature voice, his words suggesting this was not a request but a command.

"And you shall," Cecil replied, "but away from hungry ears and prying eyes," he added promptly as they passed a gaggle of maids (undoubtedly on their way from cleaning Cecil's bedchamber – he was well known for his prowess with a blade, not his cleanliness) who whispered conspiratorially while casting the pair furtive glances.

"Indeed," Kain snorted derisively as Cecil at last thrust open the heavy wooden door to his chamber, stepping into the deeply shadowed room.

"So, tell me of 'The Red Wings ferocious atrocities,'" Kain began, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Is that what the Mysidians are calling it?" Cecil asked, his voice high and forcefully conversational, as he began to unbuckle his plate armor (though it was difficult to remove alone, it was not impossible).

Kain stared at him, patiently waiting for his friend to continue speaking.

"It was awful," Cecil said in a rush after a painful pause. He removed his shirt, which was soaked with blood; though there were no dents in his chain mail to indicate that he had suffered any kind of blow. "I had to … to kill women, Kain. Many we… slew… were no older than I was when I received my first true Dark Sword."

"Only fifteen," Kain asked, aghast.

Cecil nodded stiffly, and then spoke again, his voice full of barely contained anger, a monster seething just beneath the surface, "those damn Mysidians… So determined to protect that foolish Crystal that they-they jumped in the way of our blades just to serve as obstacles. One would think that if your village was being raided you would have the good sense to hide – Pirates aren't known for their mercy."

Cecil had taken a roll of gauze from the old oak wardrobe that sat at the foot of his bed, the only other piece of furniture in the room. He began to carefully wrap his torso, which was covered with hundreds of pale, white lines that must have once been very sinister lacerations. Lacerations much like the ones that now lined his arms and pectorals. They were not deep cuts, but Kain and Cecil both knew what they were, and their shallow appearance bellied a sinister nature. There wounds were the self-inflicted curse wounds of a Dark Knight.

"You had to use it," Kain said coldly, staring at the blood soaked bandages that now criss-crossed Cecil's chest.

Cecil was not sure Kain had ever truly forgiven the King for making him take up the Dark Sword, not after the reaction Cecil had had to one the first time he had wielded one in battle. It had been against enemies of Baron, the same enemies who had kidnapped Cecil and killed Kain's parents, but nonetheless; there were two months of Cecil's fifteenth year that he was wont to remember. Kain told him he had been catatonic, and when Cecil had at last woken up he had been sitting in a bath of ice cold water, feeling as if his soul had shattered and surrounded by the concerned faces of all the people most important to him.

"I did," Cecil admitted bitterly; he had only done his job. Kain should know he would do anything for the King.

His mood lightened considerably when Kain was practically bowled over by a large form slamming itself into the door with all of its might. It was only Kain's Dragon Knight reflexes that had prevented him from having the heavy door slammed into the back of his helmless head.

"By the hair of Gaelach, Cid!" Kain cursed, his eyes narrowed at the man who had so urgently forced his way into the room.

Cecil's lips twitched into a smirk at the embarrassed look on Cid's face. The grizzled man rubbed the back of his head and muttered, "didn' see ya' there, Kain."

Cid was a man who had probably been quite fit in his youth, but now he had a large gut, protruding to accompany his barrel chest. He was only five feet and six inches, but filled smaller rooms (much like Cecil's bed chamber) with his great width and uncanny warmth. Much as his spirit dominated a group, so his large, bushy, auburn beard dominated his face; with the brilliant exception of his two, tiny black eyes, which always shone with explicit kindness. All Cecil's life Cid had been there, a support system for the man with no proper family.

His two calloused hands took Cecil by the shoulders and he began to violently shake the young Knight, "say it ain't so! Say they didn' give my babies to some ruffian who don't know his aft from his port!"

Cid quickly ceased his playful shaking when he saw the look on Cecil's face.

"Aw, geez, kid," he muttered sympathetically in his gruff voice. "Man… Don' cha'

worry! You'll be gettin' back on my girls in no time flat! I don't trust those goons of yours without you!"

Neither Kain nor Cecil could bring themselves to tell Cid that Cecil reassuming control of the Red Wings was not what worried them. That the two of them would have to go off again on the morrow to slay a beast in a distant cave, surely just a plot to get them away from the Castle so a new Lord Captain of the Red Wings could be selected.

"Well, you better hurry," Cid suddenly said, tactfully changing the subject in hopes of lifting Cecil's mood. "Yer' both expected to be at the banquet celebrating the Crystal's conquest, ya' know."

Cecil almost groaned. He wished he could take supper in his room. He hated any social event, most significantly those that required him to wear court dress; fortunately, tonight's event was not one of the later.

"You two ought to be going," Cecil told his companions. "I'll join you once I've finished dressing my wounds."

Cid smiled encouragingly and shuffled off. Kain was a bit longer, pausing at the threshold to cast Cecil a meaningful last look before he swiftly descended the stairs, shutting the door behind him.

True to his word, Cecil dressed his wounds and selected a new shirt to wear (It was not a difficult task. Cecil had made a point of limiting his worldly possessions as part of his pay for his Knightly duties was room and board. Clothing, admittedly, was not a priority of his. Cecil had never particularly cared for appearances and found favorable first impressions to be a waste of his time.). He quickly pulled on his only pair of decent boots beside his riding boots, carefully inspected his pants for signs of blood, and replaced the tiny silver ring he usually wore on his left hand's middle finger. Satisfied with his appearance, he decided to descend himself and (reluctantly) attend the banquet.

He grabbed his sword from off of his bed, strapping it to his belt and dashing out of the door, taking the stairs two at a time. He nearly collided with several of the staff on his way to the sprawling Banquet Hall, but was spry enough to dodge them. He scampered into the Hall, finding Rosa and Kain both waiting for him.

Kain had shed his grim expression from earlier to favor his usual cocky half-grin. His hair, customarily in pony tail high atop his head, was falling around his shoulders. Cecil, who had known the late Sir Richard well, was oft stunned by how much Kain resembled his straight-nosed, stone-faced father, except that his hair, a trait he had inherited from his mother.

Rosa drifted over to Cecil, looking radiant as always, her form dripping with an appeal Cecil could not explain even to himself. "Come on, let's go sit down," she urged, taking his hand and dragging him along.

He cast Kain a pleading look, but the Dragon Knight ignored him, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. He followed them to their customary seats at the end of the Hall, closest to the doorway and useful for quick getaways. Rosa, as usual, sat between them. Kain had Cecil, though best friends, were also rivals, and their discussions could get quite heated at times. It fell on Rosa, the neutral party, to play the referee.

"Who is _that_?" Cecil suddenly hissed to his two friends.

Rosa's pale green eyes lighted on the hulking man who had entered the room, biting her lower lip in disdain. Kain's eye's narrowed into dangerous amber slits, and made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Cecil took this to mean he was bad news.

The man was massively tall, even among the Baronians, whose men averaged at six feet. His skin was the same smooth, luminescent cloud pale as Cecil's, but it stretched over an inhumanly tall frame. Hair unnaturally wavy was tamed into staying away from his eyes through what could only be a feat of magic; it was the color of ash and tumbled down his back in lustrous waves. His eyes were cold and hard, the color of two amethyst jewels, glinting cruelly from his broad face. He was talking with forced civility to Baigan, who appeared to be very animatedly explaining something.

Then his eyes locked with Cecil's, and ice slid down the Dark Knight's spine. He momentarily forgot where he was, his body shivering violently as old, familiar and half-forgotten fear crept into the back of his mind, along with a deep feeling of personal betrayal.

He shook his head to dispel the feelings and break eye contact, trying to push the nagging feelings to the back of his mind. He didn't know this man.

Did he?

"That's Lord Golbez," Rosa answered his forgotten question, "but everyone in Court except His Highness thinks he's…"

"A creep," Kain said bluntly.

Cecil was too distracted for the rest of the meal to properly respond to his comments and queries. Instead, he spent the entire banquet avoiding this Lord Golbez's stare, picking nervously at his food, finding he'd lost his appetite.

After supper he muttered words of excuse, stating that he was much too exhausted for dessert, and that he must rest for his journey tomorrow. Rosa and Kain both stared after him, but they had known him long enough to realize that he just needed to be left alone.

Once in the darkness of his bed chamber, Cecil threw his shirt onto the floor, unfastened his belt and cast it to the ground, and removed his boots. Exhaustedly, he closed his heavy, cotton curtains to block out the waning daylight and flopped onto his bed, closing his eyes to at least try and feign sleep.

For Cecil Harvey, however, sleep seemed impossible.

His mind whirred with too many questions, accompanied by an unexplained feeling of rage at this Golbez individual. Still, that was not what most bothered him. What haunted him, the foremost thought in his tumultuous mind, was Mysidia.

Blood had already stained his hands before Mysidia, but those he had killed had been pirates and vagabonds. His victims in Mysidia had been _innocents_, and worse, he'd led others to murder as well. And what had it all been for? What had been the Justification? A Crystal. A jewel that shone with a gentle light, harmlessly floating in the Magi village. What right did Baron have to do this? What kind of man was he to _let_ them? And now he wasn't even in a position to do anything about it…

Hours passed and Cecil could not sleep, the same questions, the same guilt surfacing within him again and again. He could only come to one conclusion about himself. At last, he ripped off his sheets and tore open his curtains to let the light of the twin moons flood over him, spilling into his stone room, illuminating every corner. Still frustrated, he began to undress his wounds, uncaring that they were cursed wounds which still seeped blood. So deep within his own thoughts was he that he only realized he had company when two, delicate, yet strong, hands pressed to his chest and a warming sensation rushed through his body.

"Rosa-!"

Before him stood the white magi, her long, blonde hair free from its usual restraints, falling about her shoulders in golden waves. She was clothed in her archery garb, a sign she had gone out to the range to clear her head and vent her frustrations. Cecil favored her this way, found her to be her most attractive, outside of the arraignments of court; when she was her natural, tom-boyish self (was it not the reason she alone could run with Kain and Cecil?).

"When these wounds happen, you need to come to me," she chided, but then added more gently. "I wish you wouldn't use that terrible sword at all."

"You know I must," he reminded her.

She nodded, but bit her lip, a sure sign she was worried.

"Rosa-," he began, but to no avail, she cut him off.

"Cecil, what happened in Mysidia? How did-"she paused, took a deep breath, and them spoke "-how did you loose the command of the Red Wings?"

He turned from her, and she marveled at the way his naked skin shone in the moonlight, almost as if he, himself, were a crystal. She wondered if he realized it, or if he was just as oblivious about this as he seemed to be about everything else concerning himself.

"I killed them, Rosa. I killed them all. I- we stole what was _theirs_. Where is my King, I wonder, the man who saved me from death and kindly raised me here, at no gain to himself? _He_ would not have ordered this," Cecil sat upon his bed and cradled his head in his hands, staring at his bare feet. "And I am such a fool, Rosa, for following these orders. I'm so dark now – so corrupt- that I have become a coward, unable to disobey orders that should not be followed."

"You are no coward!" Rosa objected, but he ignored her anguished comments, staring into her eyes instead.

"What is this armor _doing_ to me, Rosa? When…" he trailed off, and when he spoke again his voice was very small, "when did I become a murderer?"

She kneeled before him, took his calloused, but somehow graceful, hands in her own, and placed them over her heart, "this heart would not beat for a villain, Cecil. You are a _good man_."

They stared at one another for a very long time, deep emotion stirring behind his emerald eyes, as if he wanted to speak, but he did not.

Rosa had not always found Cecil to be attractive, once she had thought herself in love with Kain, but something in her had changed after Cecil had gone through his two month ordeal. Once he had been nothing more than her closest friend and confidant, the only person she could completely rely on, but from that moment one he became her one true love. Never before had she noticed the bold, clean line of his jaw, or the width of his shoulders, or his powerful arms and chest. She had never noticed that he had dimples when he smiled, or the way his eyes sparkled with silent laughter at the page's antics, or even that he had the most enticing voice, friendly and warm (and he had a comely backside, if she might say so!). But her favorite features were his gorgeous green eyes, which were a constant play of his emotions, incredibly expressive even when his face was impassive. Of course, she had known for years that he was a man of the highest character.

In the present he pulled away, the battle within him ceasing to rage as he stood and opened the door for her, speaking softly, "you should go. It's late, and we both must sleep."

She hesitated, and then spoke, "why must you go away again when you've only just arrived?"

Cecil sighed tiredly," it's just to slay a beast, Rosa. Kain will be with me, so all will be well. We'll be back before you know it," he assured with a weary smile.

She took what she could get, squeezed his hand reassuringly, and then ran from the room.

Cecil, shutting the door behind her and drawing shut his curtains, sunk to his bed and finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

The Cecil who woke the next morning was different from the Cecil who had fallen asleep the night before. Perhaps it was because he had resolved in his heart to be loyal the king. Perhaps it was because he no longer cared.

Whatever the reason, Cecil Harvey was soundless metal suit of armor who walked down the hallways of Baron to meet his friend. He bore this punishment with silence, making no noise, giving to indication that he even cared to all the guardsmen who stared at him with their curious eyes.

He met Kain, equally silent, and the two, sword and lance in hand made their way from the castle into the pre-dawn hours before sunrise.


	3. Chapter Two: The Unwitting Felony

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Two: The Unwitting Felony

It was amazing to think that the city of Vangrad was alive this early in the morning. Its streets were already packed with silent, grey people, bundled p in drab cloaks to guard against the early morning cold. Cecil and Kain entered through the main gates. They were well enough known that the gatesman had no need to inquire into their identities; he simply opened the gates, which made nary a noise as they rose to allow entrance.

Vangrad was always characterized in the propaganda of Troia as a cold, impartial, and nearly vacant city of stone which slept under a churning gray sky. Really, nothing could have been further from the truth. Vangrad was colorful and beautiful, several public parks giving the city a lively and welcoming feel, and the river (which emptied into the lake the castle was built over) running through it because a symbol of its rhythm and vibrancy. Even this early in the morning, when everything really _was_ a bit gray, there were flashes of color. The rogue smile of a dancer as the ruffle of her magenta skirts, the violet cloak of a bard hailing from Damcyan billowing in the wind, the smell of the first baked goods from Dorian Grey's… They all combined to give the visitor a whisper of an idea of what the city might be like during its most active hours.

Cecil and Kain stepped through the crowd gathered in the south square (there to await the set up of a group of skilled minstrels who had come from a city to the north, likely the Dark Knight's outpost of Necrograd), past the marble fountain which slowly bubbled pale blue water, and took a sharp turn to the west, stepping onto a side road where the buildings were pressed very closely together. Unlike some of the smaller, impoverished, foreign cities the two soldiers had been to Vangrad was spotlessly clean. Baron had such clean cities, perhaps, because it had developed indoor plumbing nearly two centuries ago, a whole century before everyone else in the world. Baron was known abroad (even by the grudging Troians) as the most advanced nation in the world, clearly reflected by their mantra of 'progress, peace, and prosperity.'

The Dark Knight and the Dragon Knight stepped into the smallest, cheapest shop in the greater Vangrad area (that was even counting the small farming community outlying it), signified by the half rotted signpost and crumbling steps. The two men typically gave this shop their business for all their supply needs because the goods were at a lower price and of essentially the same quality.

"Masters Harvey and Highwind!" graciously exclaimed a bent old man with a waterfall of a gray beard and kind, watery eyes, "Another hunting trip, young lords?"

"Hello, Mr. Finnigan," greeted Cecil mildly, carefully closing the creaky old door behind them. "I'm afraid that this is a hunting trip of a different sort. Do you have a small supply of salves on hand?"

Finnigan nodded, "is there anything else you desire, masters?"

"Yes," Kain added from behind Cecil, stepping out of the shadows to stare at Finnigan. "Do you happen to have equipment for camping?"

The old man nodded again, raising his eyebrows, "you're going far, sirs?"

"Just up to Mist," Cecil commented offhandedly, fingering his coin purse in anticipation of the purchase and frowning at how light it felt. "Apparently there is some manor of beast there that requires slaying."

The village of Mist, far to the north of Baron, was an inconsequential little place. It was so much so that it had never been on a map and even Baron, who brought weaker cities under their protection by assimilating them into the empire, had not interest in it. It was rumored to be home to a clan of Men who had Magic flow through their veins instead of blood.

Finnigan scuttled off to retrieve their purchase from the storeroom, as it was clear the conversation was now closed. Kain placed a hand on Cecil's shoulder ", I'll take this purchase. I've not managed to drain my family fortune yet, my friend."

Cecil was about to remind Kain that this was his mission and thus his financial burden, but the old man returned and Kain paid before he could object.

Kain and Cecil stepped back into the early morning length, a pack full of their new equipment slung over Cecil's shoulders (which he had insisted on carrying because Kain had made the payment). They needed rations yet, but the city was starting to awaken and Kain and Cecil had yet to eat. It was with this in mind that they set out for the nearby Dragon's Maw Pub.

When the set foot in the ill-lit and smoke filled room they were met by the usual chorus of cheers as the men and women around the room raised their glasses in greeting. Cecil and Kain both smiled back, unable to help themselves surrounded by so many familiar faces.

"Why, if it isn't the two young lords!" gushed a plump woman with wildly curly strawberry blond hair and perpetually rosy cheeks. "D'in think I'd ever see ya'in here this early! Will it be the usual, boys?"

"Yes, Miss Joy," Cecil replied with uncharacteristic warmth in his voice as he set down their supplies on the worn wooden planks of a secluded corner of the room.

Miss Joy, the hostess, went off, bubbling to anyone who would listen about her 'two favorite boys.'

"We should be out of Vangrad by midday," Kain told Cecil, "which is sooner than I'd anticipated."

Cecil didn't reply. He was too busy watching the trio in the corner farthest from them. One of them was assuredly Lord Baigan, even though Cecil could only see the back of his shaved head. He was talking heatedly to a crooked looking man draped in a maroon cloak. What looked like a blue claw protruded from beneath the folds of the fabric to grasp a tankard of pale ale. The last was Lord Golbez, looking very much like a Chocobo would were her to be stuffed into a songbird's cage. His amethyst eyes stared down at Lord Baigan as if he were contemplating frying the man for some unknown sin.

Again, a feeling of nagging familiarity overwhelmed Cecil, but this time he was able to push it from his mind and turn his face away, though with no small effort. Kain, meanwhile, had followed his faze, but turned his amber eyes back to Cecil when the Dark Knight fore his eyes away; "Lord Golbez truly bothers you, doesn't he?

"Yes," replied Cecil, removing his helm to place it upon the table, "I feel as if-"

But he was silenced by Miss Joy, who was bounding toward them, miraculously balancing both food and beverage in her arms. "Order's up, boys!" she called to them. "Two beef stew, a pale ale, and a milk!"

"Thank you, Miss Joy," Cecil told her as she placed their food upon the table.

She smiled genially, and them bustled away to shoo away some men who were after her cooling pie.

Cecil had sworn off alcohol in his fifteenth year when he had flooded the castle's dungeons. It only turned him into a complete fool. He didn't have a very high tolerance for the loathsome substance. Kain, however, was tolerant of nearly any amount, and made a point to remind Cecil that there was nothing wrong with a glass or two at meal time. It was so diluted, he claimed, that it wouldn't even give Cecil a happy buzz. Cecil knew, however, that if he had one drink and innumerable amount would follow, and he would quickly drink himself into oblivion.

Golbez was not brought up again, and the two continued with their meal in peace. They finished their preparations, and left Vangrad around midday, just as Kain had predicted.

* * *

Cecil Harvey and Kain Highwind were naïve, mused the man inside of the maroon cloak, seated directly across from Baigan. How foolish to assume that he did not see them enter and depart. They were too far away to hear any of the fool Captain's powerful boasting, thankfully, for he was revealing minute details of their plan, and, unlike the other customers in this dingy establishment, they would know well enough what they were speaking of to stop them.

Beside him stat Lord Golbez, staring at Baigan with greed apparent in his eyes; the hatred this man possessed for Cecil Harvey was a boon. It was a glorious thing that could be utilized for The Cause, and Lord Golbez was certain to know that. All they need do now was to plant the Chimerea Seed within him and wait fro the opportune moment to enact their plan. It was all going rather smoothly now that the obstacle of Cecil Harvey was removed from their path. Naïve he may be, but his sense of justice would never allow him to procure the remaining Crystals in Baron's name; and The Crystals were everything.

"All that's left to do now is convince His Highness to launch the attack," Baigan said with a sneer, "and I don't think that shall be a problem."

"Indeed," agreed Lord Golbez in his velveteen voice, carefully folding his hands in front of him, the vaguest ghost of a smile upon his face. "Then the announcement will be made tonight, I trust?"

"No," the maroon cloaked man said, his voice much like steel claws running themselves along a slab of slate. "We must wait for the conformation of Lord Captain Harvey's death. The Council of Regents will never allow it otherwise. They think this journey one of redemption for their favorite member."

Baigan frowned, "I never understood why his death was such a necessity. I believe Lord Harvey too difficult to kill, and wonder if this is all a waste of your precious time, Milord. No mere Dragon can slay that man, most especially when you've foolishly sent Lord Highwind with him."

"I had no choice!" croaked the cloaked man viciously. "Captain Highwind overheard!"

"Enough," Lord Golbez commanded, fire flashing in his eyes. "Cecil Harvey is a liability. Of all the men in Baron that may have been a threat to The Cause he was the only one who seemed immune to my … persuasion. This would not be a problem were the man not so _noble_," he said the world disdainfully ", but as it is he could prove himself an irritation. I am curious, Lord Baigan, why you seem to so fervently believe he cannot be killed."

Baigan sighed and admitted, reluctantly ", he is a virtuoso. His instructors at the Academy in Vangrad constantly complained of his laziness, but I once overheard him telling Lord Highwind that he only 'slacked' in order for the two of them to graduate in the same year. His instructors in Necrograd never reported a problem with him; in fact, they said he was bound to enter the service as an officer."

"You have seen him in combat?" Lord Golbez queried.

"No, but I have seen the results," Lord Baigan was bitter at the memory. "He decimated an entire militant Troian Elitist Group, and the only wounds he suffered were inflicted by the power of the blade he turned upon them."

"If the Dragon doesn't kill him, Milord," the cloaked man assured his frowning lord, "the challenges he faces in Mist are certain to."

"_They ought to_," Lord Golbez rumbled. "I do not need opposition from someone who could become formidable."

"Yes," Lord Baigan's expression brightened, as if he had remembered some cheerful fact. "That noble fool is not apt to harm a peasant."

"Excellent," Lord Golbez stood. "I must go inform our compatriots of this favorable news. I will see you when we sup."

Shortly after that Lord Baigan excused himself, likely to go brood over the deep misfortune of his life and his hatred of Cecil Harvey.

Finally, the cloaked man was left alone with his ale.

* * *

For miles to the north, east, south and west extended a vast wilderness. Mountains loomed to the north, gazing down upon the golden plains with their dark and ever watchful eyes. To the east was the plain, and then beyond that the temperamental sea, her waters sparkling gleefully one moment, then turned turbulent the next. Southwards lay the forests of Baron, one of which Cecil had been discovered in over eighteen years before. Then, to the west, rested a brief desert, which soon gave way to oceans of green grass, waving in the friendly breeze.

Cecil and Kain traveled to the north, towards the wall of mountains, beyond which was the Valley of Mist, and the village that was their destination. They were nearing the end of their second full day of this journey, and the duo had set up camp at the base of one the hills in the hilland directly preceding the mountains. The day's kill had been meager, but they still had plenty of dry rations, and so they were less likely to die of starvation than of boredom.

Cecil silently tended the flames of their fire while Kain cleaned their kill (Cecil was not known for his camp food: or any food, for that matter. It really was better if Kain did all of the cooking.). The sound of his dagger against the flesh of the beast and the crackling of the flames were the only noises the penetrated the stillness of their campsite. Suddenly, Cecil raised his head to stare at his companion, "Do you think we're doing the right thing?"

Kain halted to return Cecil's gaze, "Is that what you've been thinking about all of this time? Our orders?"

Cecil took out a small, gold ring, encrusted with rubies, from the satchel lying at his feet, laying it in his palm and holding it up for Kain to see. "What can be the purpose of this?"

Kain stared at it for a very long time, but then shook his head, "I have no idea, Cecil"

Cecil replaced the ring among their items and said nothing. He stared at his hands for a moment and then resumed tending the fire, his mind wandering to events long past, as it oft had a tendency to do in silent moments. The though of how unbelievably painful it had been to loose the Red Wings was the first thought to surface; Kain was lucky, to still be able to touch the sky. Then he'd suddenly recalled how he'd been ordered here as if it were a _mercy _from the King to send him on this wild goose chase.

Not for the first time, Cecil wondered what had happened to his lord.

"Listen," Kain finally said ", just take this chance, Cecil. I know how you feel about the King, but…" he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. "Just do it."

Cecil didn't argue. He didn't feel like being angry with Kain at the moment, but something told him that this was all some mind game that the king was playing with him. The king, _his _king, was dead.

The rest of the night was largely uneventful. Kain prepared a tasteless stew, they ate it and some overly salty meat, cleared up, and then prepared for nightfall. Cecil took first watch, stooping over the fire, which he kept as low as possible as not to wake Kain. He stared into the darkness, fingering his silver right, which he had taken with him, though he did not wear it underneath his armor. He no longer had to look at it to know what its appearance yielded to the eye. Simply feeling it, worn smooth through the years, was enough to bring him comfort.

It was his oldest worldly possession. He'd been found all those years ago with this dangling from his neck upon a small chain. Cecil knew, somehow, that it was his mother's, though he had never been sure why he felt this way. Once, Rosa had asked him about it, and had told her, though afterwards he'd felt foolish. Rosa had told him that he must feel her love for him in it, but Cecil dismissed this. If his parents had loved him then why did they leave him all alone in the forest? Why did the abandon him?

He was pulled from his musings by Kain, who was ready to relieve Cecil of his duty. Cecil, still holding his ring, fell into a dreamless sleep the moment his head hit the bedroll.

The next morning they woke and set out before dawn. By midday they had reached the entrance to Mist Cave and took a brief break before descending into the darkness. Mist Cave cut through the mountains they would have otherwise had to scale. It served as a shortcut that effectively cut a month off of their journey. It was the sole route to Damcyan, the country of wealthy traders, and was worn from frequent use by the Merchant's Guild.

The minute Cecil stepped into the cave and energy crept up the back of his neck. Instinct told him they were not alone here, though the presence he felt was neither malignant nor benign. It was almost as if it were trying to gauge their character and determine whether or not it was going to give them passage to Mist. Kain apparently did not feel it, but the presence made itself known once they reached the end of the first bend.

"Men of Baron, leave this place," it rumbled in a voice like a waterfall.

Cecil could have sword he felt the mist rising from the underground river constrict about them, but he shook off the feeling and pushed on thought the half light of the beast's lair. At last it seemed they would reach their destination, but they were halted again by the voice, which spoke with anger evident in its deep voice, "I said leave! Do you mean to ignore my warning?"

"We must deliver this ring to the village beyond," Cecil told the voice as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, not sure what he was expecting.

Whatever it may heave been, it was not the beast that condensed to solid form before them.

It was a Dragon, ten feet long and four feet thick, floating above them. Its body was long and serpentine, translucent white with long tendrils swirling off its narrow face and disappearing into the thick fog that had enveloped them. From the darkness shone forth a pair of glassy blue eyes, filled with wisdom, intelligence, and righteous fury.

"So be it," it growled, and Cecil felt a pang of guilt stab his heart as he began to doubt himself (not for the first time).

Guilt had a time and place, however, and Cecil knew that this was not it.

The beast charged at them, its massive body uncoiling with frightening speed and grace. Kain launched himself into the air as Cecil rolled sideways, casting their equipment into a far off corner of the chamber. He narrowly avoided the snap of the Dragon's jaws. Fluidly, Cecil drew his sword, turning it upon the beast with deadly agility and accuracy; it let out a bellow of pain as the dark blade sank into its flesh. Rounding on Cecil, it lashed out with its whip like tail, but the Dark Knight was too quick, and somehow managed to jump the thing, though garbed in full body armor. Elegantly, he landed; crouching as the tail rebounded, blasting past his head and becoming embedded in the cavern wall. Cecil took the brief respite to focus his energies, suddenly glowing violet with the darkness, his body filled with sudden aggression and hatred, coiled coldly within his stomach, a viper ready to strike. A grunt of exertion burst from his lips, and he sliced clean through the end of the Dragon's tail, which gushed silvery steam instead of blood. Roaring in deepest agony, it was too distracted to retaliate when Kain landed upon it with his usual graceful ferocity, pushing his lance in and pulling it out in a matter of seconds, his terrible velocity making this no easy feat.

Then, it dissolved.

Kain's muscles did not relax, nod could Cecil force himself to calm. A look passed between them.

It was only their reflexes that saved them from the attack as they both dove to the rocky floor. Coming down of them from above, Kain blocked the Dragon's attack by using his lance to force the Dragon's face away from them; his lance becoming the only obstacle between them and the monster's gaping maw. Cecil saw his opportunity and thrust his sword upward through what he could only pray was a vital organ of this monstrosity. When it groaned feebly and went slack, its eyes loosing their light, Kain and Cecil struggled from their position beneath its massive carcass, sword and lance still clutched tightly in hand.

Panting, Cecil stood, not saying a word. He could feel blood seeping down his abdomen and was leaning on his sword for support. Kain gathered their scattered supplies from the floor, turning to his friend and tossing him a healing tonic.

Cecil caught the small, green, vial with one hand and uncorked it with his teeth, downing the vile tasting liquid in one gulp. Instantaneously, relief flooded through hid body, and he felt the heat of generic magic begin to stitch up the gash on his stomach. "We should move on."

Kain nodded and the two companions stepped into the light, out of the darkness of the burrow. Cecil squinted into the sunlight even through his visor, shielding himself with his arm, guarding himself against the thorny pain of the sunshine.

They were at the top of a hill, overlooking the twilit village of Mist, which slept unassumingly below them. It was less then an hour's walk away. Together, the two companions set down the hill, the waning rays of daylight glinting off of their armor. After days of travel and the harsh battle they had only just conquered this was like a stroll in one of Vangrad's many parks.

After a while, Kain tossed Cecil the gold ring and flashed his friend a smile, "now for the easy part."

Cecil laughed, the dark cloud over his heart dissipating for the first time in days. He removed his helm, allowing his sweaty hair to tumble out into the cool early springtime breeze. "Indeed, my friend. Delivering a bauble is nothing. Perhaps I will yet be returned to my post."

They were almost to the base of the foothill now, and thus to Mist.

Kain smirked, "I told you not to be worried, did I not?"

"Indeed you did! I can hardly believe I-!"

At the moment they drifted into the village the ring began to glow scarlet, burning hot. Cecil dropped the thing onto the ground in shock, recoiling as it shot a pillar of flame that spiraled to great heights, the womb of beasts shaped like spheres and forged of fire. They descended upon the village, sitting it swiftly ablaze.

When Cecil heard the first scream his palms began to sweat and his body to shake. He found he could no longer stand as a wave of remorse more potent than any he had ever felt overwhelmed him. All he could think was 'No, not again! Please, Gaelach, no!' Vaguely, he was aware Kain was speaking to him, and only became aware he was sobbing and crying out when Kain shook him violently.

"More innocents," he blubbered incoherently. "Kain", he pulled away. "We have to-! I can't-!"

He made his way through the village, unsure of which woeful screams to heed, but at last he found one he was drawn to; the screams of a child.

Cecil felt as if the God of Justice were dead. If he were alive _surely_ he could have prevented this – this atrocity. Surely, if he were alive, he would have sent Cecil some sign, any sign, that that accursed ring was evil. He cursed the star he was born under as he found what he was looking for.  
She was a girl, no more than eight years old, weeping over the corpse of a woman. Her green hair clung to her face, which was flushed, her eyes puffy and red from her tears.

"What happened?" he asked, crouching by her, not even aware of Kain behind him.

"Someone-! Someone killed Mommy's Dragon!" She sobbed, clinging further to the woman; her finger's digging into the cloth of her shirt.

Cecil paled as her words sunk in. _He_ had felled the Dragon. _He_ had killed this girl's mother. _He_ alone was responsible for orphaning this girl.

"I've heard of these people," Kain commented, and the way he spoke, as if she was some lower being, bothered Cecil. "Conjurers. They can call upon beasts called Eidolons to come to their aid in battle."

"Then that Dragon…" Cecil shook his head, suddenly full of resolve that he should have found in Mysidia. "It was…"

"Well," Kain raised his lance above his head as if to strike the girl ", we must be thorough."

"No!" Cecil sprung to his feet, placing himself as a shield between them. "She's a girl, Kain! Do you mean to tell me you can kill her?"

"You mean to tell _me_ you could disobey and order?" Kain asked.

"Yes!" Cecil exclaimed. "If it means… If it means _this_!" He frantically motioned about him. "If it means killing Dragons and making orphans! I won't be used again!"

"You… you killed my Mommy," the girl muttered in a voice dripping with hatred. "You… you murderer!"

"No!" he turned to her, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up; something was coming. "I did not know! I-!"

"Get away!" she shrieked. "I _**HATE**_ YOU!"

All at once the ground exploded.

Cecil did not know what happened, but he was jarred from his feet and thrown violently to one direction, away from Kain. Tossed about like a doll, he slammed into a tree as the earth beneath him crumbled and rose, distorting the landscape.

This attack, this earth rending attack, was clearly meant to kill him.

Still thrown off balance, Cecil did not see the rock that fell from one of the newly formed cliffs above; if he had he likely could have dodged it. As it was, it tumbled from above and hit him upon the side of the head, knocking him clean out.

His last thoughts before slipping into oblivion were that, if he were to die, it was a death deserving.


	4. Chapter Three: Into the Darkness

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Three: Into the Darkness

He woke, and his first thoughts were numb as he struggled to sit. Reasonable thought had long since escaped him, and it was replaced by the most base of instinct. How long had he been unconscious? Where was he? What of his injuries? These were his very first thoughts, but as he came to himself he became aware of other things, such as Kain and the girl.

Suddenly panicking, he swiftly stood, only to sway and fall onto his buttocks, a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him. It took all of his self control not to curse when he realized he'd suffered an ankle sprain, likely a very bad one, from the way it throbbed. He placed a trembling hand to his temple, realizing he could have been hurt more gravely as he surveyed the landscape about him.

What ever this area had been before, it was now a rocky cliff face. Trees had been displaced by the maelstrom of rocks and dirt, and were now waving goodbye to life with the gnarled fingers of their roots. Cecil trembled at the thought of what may have happened to Mist, both because of the fire and this newfound calamity, which was surely of a magical nature.

He felt distinct relief when he saw the unconscious form of the girl nearby, her chest heaving with slow, even breaths. He saw no sign of Kain, however, but was not decidedly worried over his friend, whom he was quite sure could take care of himself. No, right now his concern was the girl, and, secondarily, himself. She needed shelter, and it would be very difficult to defend her with only one good leg and, he discovered as he touched his forehead and his hand came away stick and red, a gash on his forehead.

He sighed when he realized there was no chance of getting back to a Baroni city, for the newly formed mountains were too steep for him to climb in his condition, and with a girl on his back. The next closest city was Kaipo, and that was across the desert, which he had even less of a chance of surviving than the mountains. Having no choice, he at last made a decision to chance the desert, though he had no idea how far away from it, or near to it for that matter, he was. The rubble could have carried them for miles, for the chasm and cliff face behind them seemed for the world to not have an end.

Steeling himself he stood, ignoring the pain in his ankle and his throbbing head, and began to gather whatever equipment he could salvage (this included his helm, which had not been crushed beyond recognition, miraculously). He then limped over to the girl with no small effort, crouched as low as he could without falling over, and threw her over his shoulder rather unceremoniously. It would have to do he concluded, whilst gauging how long it would take him to get out of this patch of trees and onto a road (Damcyan was a peaceful land. It did not eagerly participate in the Baroni and Troian rush to claim territory, thus it could afford to spend tax payer dollars on things like roads leading in and out of civilization.). He judged it was about midmorning, by the position of the sun, and determined to at least get them out of the woods before sundown; any grouping of trees can be a dangerous place after dark, and she would be more or less out of harm's way in an opening. Favoring his left ankle he set out, eager to find some sort of shelter before sundown, though it was unlikely they'd even find a small village this far out in the wilds.

Thankfully, he did manage to reach the edge of the wood before nightfall, and somehow limp up a hill by dusk, even carrying a young girl across his shoulder. From the top of the hill Cecil could see an ocean of golden sand, though he could not decide whether he was happy or fearful at the sight. He determined that he should not dwell on it, and set his mind on making some sort of rough shelter for the two of them, at least for now; he needed to recover some strength before he even attempted to cross the desert.

He also determined that he should not use Dark Fire to ignite the little wood he was able to gather while carrying a girl (he refused to leave her undefended, even if he was not much help in his current state); it was not beneficial to conjure something that would further harm their chances of survival. So he lit a fire with the flint he had saved from their supplies, and became exceedingly grateful he carried his coin purse under his armor; _when_ they reached Kaipo he would be able to buy supplies with the little Gil he had. Cecil lay the girl down and set watch, knowing he would not be able to get any sleep until first light, for he had to tend the fire to keep the beasts away.

Unfortunately, he found it incredibly difficult not to nod off, even with the pounding behind his temple and the steady throb of his ankle, so he was jarred to full wakefulness when the sound of a cart came from the direction of the desert, traveling the road he'd found earlier that morning. His hand flew, involuntarily, to the hilt of his sword, and he struggled to stand, cursing when his ankle gave way and he fell inelegantly into the dirt (though he was not usually a cursing man, there were instances when he found a normal expletive just could not express his frustrations clearly enough. Kain found this little oddity of Cecil's entertaining, for he cursed up a storm when angry; Rosa found it charming and chivalrous.) Around the bend came a cart drawn by what surely had to be two chocobo, yellow blurs against the blue-black of the starry sky. As the cart approached, Cecil could make out a form sitting at its helm, steering the chocobo toward Mist. He'd no idea what sort of carter would drive after nightfall, but suddenly his hopes soared. If he could buy at least the girl passage to Kaipo, where she could receive medical attention, and possibly a new home, he would die a happy man.

"Hail, stranger!" called the voice of an aged woman as the cart drew steadily closer, causing Cecil to start.

She was a squat grandmother with flyaway grey hair covered by a wide-brimmed straw hat. She peered at him from under it with shrewd, grey eyes ", what's a youth like yourself doing out in the boonies?" he eyes caught the sleeping form of the girl ", and with a child, no less!"

"Mist has been destroyed by Baron," he told her in a tone so even it shocked even himself. "I took this girl from that place to try and save her. Please—"

She cut him off with a glace. Her gaze turned appraising as she slid her eyes up and down his from (still splayed on the ground in an unseemly manor, Cecil did not particularly care. He was too tired too care for much of anything accept the girl's safety.). "Hurt yourself, did ya?"

"Yes, in the rockslide," seeing the blank look on her face, he expanded. "The mountains collapsed around Mist. It will be impossible to reach this way. One would have to charter a ship to a Baroni port, and Gaelach knows there aren't many of those."

She slid off her cart and went to the back, "then we'll camp here for the rest of the night; using your fire, of course. Tomorrow we'll start the drive back into Kaipo. Now way in all of creation your makin' it there in your condition."

"You're not going to continue to Mist?" he asked, bewildered; he had been so certain she wouldn't believe him.

She chuckled ", not unless you have an airship hidden in that armor of yours. If there's been a rockslide like you said, there ain't no way I'm getting to Baron with my goods. I'll just have to go back to Kaipo." She paused. "Now help me set up camp. I'll let you hitch a ride and use some of my supplies, but nothin' in this world's for free, boy. You have to work for it."

Cecil was grateful. Any other carter would have ignored him, or made him spend the little money he did have on passage to Kaipo. When he mentioned it to her, she just waved him off ", normally, there would have been no way in hell I'd have helped you, but this is to repay a debt. Some little bird told me about a rockslide, though, and now I'll be the only carter in Greater Baron (as the continent was named) not wastin' my time. I may even get a refund on these goods."

Cecil wondered briefly at the impact this landslide would have on the world's delicate economy. After all, the Mist Valley was the only direct route to Damcyan from Baron, and the same inversely. Damcyan was highly involved in trade with other nations (due to its climate, its central location, and the port city of Triton, southward of Kaipo), but Baron's only other neighbor was Troia, and the two were sworn enemies. Concern for his nation gripped him momentarily, but then he remembered Baron's wealth of natural resources from all the land she controlled. It was possible Baron could become incredibly self sufficient. He knew she would; after all, Baroni were known for their ingenuity. In the end, the only ones who would suffer were the carters who ran the route from Baron to Damcyan, still a terrible loss.

Then an idea struck him. What if Baron were to extend her hand and use her wealth to build a port? They could then trade with Damcyan as well as countries like Eblan. Of course, she would also use it as an excuse to fund a Navy, and then the Baron Eight Corps would become the Nine Corps…

"What's your name, boy? By that armor, I'd wager you live down in Necrograd," her voice pulled him from his musings. "Or at least you did, at one point."

"My name is Cecil," he said, choosing not to elaborate.

She raised a bushy eyebrow at him, but said nothing except, "I'm Maude."

Maude turned out to be a charitable, if slightly salty, woman .Cecil caught her staring at the girl again and again, and at last resolved to ask her about it when they'd settled down around his now happily crackling campfire. "You like children?'

"Yeah," she smiled, her wizened face momentarily softening. "She reminds me of my own daughter, he'd be a grown woman by now, but that crotchety old bastard took her away with him when she was only six years old." Her expression soured, but then became inquisitive as she queried. "What about you, Cecil? You got a family? Any kids? You seem to be pretty gentle with her."

Cecil had never thought about fatherhood before, so the question took him off guard and he had to think for a moment before carefully choosing his answer. "No. I have no kin, and I'm an orphan. I've no wife, either, so there are no children."

"Never had an affair?" she asked with a grin, and laughed as he shook his head, apparently at the expression on his face. "Ah, you're a good boy. I'd have thought a young man as attractive as you would have been married off by now. All of the good ones go first, you know. That's why I ended up with the bat that I did." She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "So then, you're afraid of commitment, boy?"

Cecil thought of Rosa and then answered. "No."

He was afraid of the Dark Sword. He was afraid it would become too much of a temptation and that he would loose himself to it again, just like that time five years ago. And what if Rosa were to be in the way? Or any child they would produce? He could not put her in danger. He would not.

"Aye. Yourself then, is it?" she said in a manor that was positively sagely, and Cecil felt as if her poignant grey eyes had stripped him naked to stare at his shameful scars; trophies of his sins. "Never mind. The food's ready."

They ate her bland soup without speaking. Maude agreed to take first watch and Cecil obligingly sunk into a deep slumber, a slumber of exhaustion unplauged by his usual nightmares.

He woke to the dawn, and asked Maude, rather indignantly, why she hadn't woken him for watch. She just cackled good naturedly, slapped him on the back, and smiled a nearly toothless smile. "What good's an injured Knight gonna do?"

He really had nothing to say to that.

Less than an hour and a half later he was sitting beside Maude in front of the cart, the little green haired girl sitting in his lap, still unconscious (he hoped she wasn't seriously injured).

Cecil spent most of the day thinking, as Maude needed to concentrate on her chocobos, and found his mind wandering to the subject of fatherhood. Why he'd never given it a thought before he did not know. It certainly wasn't because he was still a child himself. Heaven's no, he'd lost his childhood long ago. It wasn't because he wasn't suitable marriage material; Kain had once told him that half of the women in Baron fawned over him as if he were a godling.

Cecil could only suppose he never thought about being a father because it seemed so out of reach; he figured he'd never marry.

Now, while stuck in the vast and unfriendly wilds, he found himself thinking about being a father. He imagined tiny hands reaching out to him, and trusting eyes that looked to him, admired him, that ultimately aspired to emulate him. Suddenly, he was frightened, more frightened than he had ever been before. Cecil had no idea what he would do. He'd no example to teach him how to father a child.

But then, looking at the tiny girl in his lap, he thought about the joy being a father could bring; especially if he had that child with Rosa. It would give him a sense of wholeness he had never had, a reason for being other than empty war, something to fight for. He could fulfill a purpose and find true happiness, but—

Alas, it was just a dream. Cecil would never admit to his love for Rosa aloud (for her own safety, he told himself; denying his feelings for her was not a punishment), and he would never bring himself to love another. It would remain locked within him forever, and Cecil could suddenly see the rosy promise of happiness skittering away on the hot, desert breeze.

They camped underneath a rocky overhang that night, the roof of the blab blackened by the smoke of campfires long dead. The desert nights could drop to below freezing, so finding a good shelter was rather important, and the overhang would help to trap the heat.

Later that night, Maude stared at him as he ate. He was having a difficult keeping fatherhood from his mind, and his struggle must have shown on his face, for she commented ", one so clearly blessed by the Twin Gods shouldn't have such sad eyes."

It was not the first time he'd heard something of the like, but he was surprised to hear it in the wilds. People outside of Mysidia and Baron rarely practiced worship of the Twin Gods. "This is just a fluke," he told her, motioning to his appearance. "I'm no godling."

"Aye, perhaps not, but my ex-husband would have said that you were Gaelach's very reflection, though perhaps a shade or so darker." She smirked. "The fierce little Red Moon, everyone knows, is Gaelach's Airship. Red is the color of his flag because it is the color passion; it's why the Baroni painted their airships red."

Cecil, of course, already knew that. "What does that have to do with anything? How can I possibly be a reflection of the God of Justice when I'm…" he trailed off.

"What? A Dark Knight? A Pirate who raided Mysida?" she snorted derisively.

He stared at her in shock.

She rolled her eyes at him. "You may not be flying Baron's flag over your head, but you're clearly the one and only Dark Knight who led the Mysidi Raid. You have a guilt complex. Besides, 'man of Baron' is written all over your face. Baroni have a feeling to 'em that I can't really put clearly into words." She sighed deeply, and then waved it off. "Anyway, you're Gaelach's reflection not because of how you look, but because of the way you act. Not many men would have saved that little girl. Not many men would tell a carter, let alone a woman carter, about rockslides, or even help her set up camp with a swollen ankle, and doing more than their fair share, at that. That benevolence, that inherent kindness, is at Gaelach's core, even if he has a reputation for being a bit frosty at times. O'course, the fact that you wield that," she motioned to his sword, "makes you darker; Gaelach is a being of light and cannot hold within him darkness. You, on the other hand…"

He said nothing, staring at his gauntleted hands. Usually the reasons given to him for 'being a reflection' of one of the Twin Gods was simply a reason of appearance. This woman was pointing to his character and highlighting traits he did not see within himself at all. Cecil did those things because it came naturally to him, not because of anything good inside of him. It simply was. And even if they were good deeds, he was sure that when every man was judged for his sins at the end of time, the Twin Gods would cast him into the Underworld, for his sins far outweighed any good he'd done on this world.

"For the record, it's what a man _does_ about his mistakes that matters, not the mistakes he's made," she said softly after a meditative moment.

Cecil promised himself, not for the first time, that he would stop Baron no matter the cost to himself.

* * *

They reached Kaipo by dusk the next day. Here, Cecil offered to pay Maude, but she refused him and was even kind enough to point him in the direction of the one of the cheaper, but more cleanly, inns in town.

When he arrived, the single maid on staff saw the girl and began to fuss over her. She caused such a ruckus that the inn keeper came to scold her, but he took one look and the girl and immedeatly offered Cecil a free room, meical supplies, and meal. cecil turned down the meal, insiting he didn't want to impose.

So it was that he found himsefl in a private room on the Inn's second floor, overlooking the moonlight waters of the Kaipo Oasis. At last, he was finally able to tend to the girl and lay her down in a bed to recover. He was about to tend to his own when he felt eyes on his back, and turned around to discover the girl, staring at him with wide, green eyes. They were glistening with tears, and an expression of fear mingling with hatred was etched upon her face. It caused Cecil's already bleeding heart to further fracture, and he turned his face away from the fading light of her innocence.

"I know it doesn't fix it, not does it take away your pain," he said in a gentle voice, one that he had to will not to waver ", but I want you to know how sorry I am. I - I don't even know your name."

He looked at her to find that she had turned awy from him, and found that he couldn't balme her. "I know that it makes no difference to you, but my name is Cecil."

He turned away from her again and began to work, trying to swallow the pain that was trapped in his throat.

He removed his armor plate by plate and frowned at his thread bare shirt and sweat stained grey silk doublet. They wouldn't do for much more than travel, and if he were to stop Baron he would need allies; powerful allies. In order to garner these allies he would have to look more than presentable. Unfortunately, all the clothing that would make the right impression was back in his wardrobe at home. Running a hand through his hair, Cecil resolved to buy at lest a decent doublet tomorrow, though he doubted he'd enough time, nor the funds, to seek the help of a proper tailor. He supposed he'd have to go for presentable and earnest, then.

Taking off his traveling boots he examined his ankle. It seemed to mending well enough, but it would do no good to strain it any further. What he needed was rest. All he could do now was spread a soothing salve over it and bind it with gauze to set it.

As he finished, the sound of footsteps dashing frantically up the stairs and the echo of claking armor greeted his ears. Every muscle in the Knight's body tensed, and he grabbed his sword from where it sat beside him on the bed, unsheathing it and standing just as the muffled shouting of the inn keeper grew loud enough to discern.

"-can't. Nothing is in there. Storage, it is. No! Stop! You've got no jurisdiction here!"

But his protests apparently fell on deaf ears, for Cecil's childhood tormenter forced his way through the door, flanked by two obviously green guardsmen.

Cecil's first thought was that he could easily defeat them, even with the obvious disadvantage of his swollen ankle. If he defeated Pangdorr the otehr two could be subdued quite simply; they weren't apt to put up a fight after the apprehension (or potential disembowlment) of their Lord. His second was that they clearly weren't expecting to see him here, by the looks of shock evident upon all their faces. He'd no idea how long he'd been gone from Baron, but apparently it had been enough time to declare him dead. That meant that their target was this girl, whom he was certain had Called whatever monstrosity had caused the rockslide at Mist. Were they truly that determined to destroy every last Conjuer?

Pangdorr took his presence in stride ", Lord Captain Harvey, had over the girl and we can all go back to Baron. Now harm will be done."

"I'm afraid," Cecil said in a vocie that made the two guardsmen blanch ", that I cannot do that."

"Then you are a still a fool," Pangdorr snarled, pointing the tip of his blade at Cecil, provoking his men into charging forward.

Cecil bypassed the charging guards with a quick sidestep, forgetting about his ankle in the heat of the moment. They'd built up enough momentum that they tripped over Cecil's bed and landed in a messy pile on the other side. Cecil used their diversion to dogde Pandgdorr's downward slice, hit the man in the face with his right elbow, and drive him back out of the door and down the stairs. He knew two guards so green would not have the gall to kill a little girl, and would decided to pursue the fight rather than stain their hands with innocent blood. Spinning, Cecil locked swords with Pangdorr in order to stop a wild slive from hitting the nearby maid. He pushed the man back violently, causing him to loose his footing and tumble out over the threshold. Cecil placed the tip of his obsidian blade at the fallen Pangdorr's neck. A moment later his guards stummbled into the street, having miraculously managed to untagle themselves. Niether was foolish enough to attempt to cross blades with a seasoned war veteran and Dark Knight.

"Get out, and tell the King that he will soon have a threat to contend with. I will not allow him to take any more Crystals," he spat at Pangdorr's feet, Withdrew his sword, and slammed the door in their faces.

When he spun around, rage still boiling in his veins, he was meet by the jolly and rotund face of the inn keeper. "You just bested Baroni soldiers! You, neighbor, are a hero - willing to take on the Empire!"

Cecil, taken aback, shook his head ", no. I am just a man ensuring the saftey of this inn and that little girl. Good night, sir, and thank you."

He returned to find the girl stitting up. Her green eyes lighted on his form when he entered, eyes full of wariness and curiosity. "I'm Rydia," she muttered shyly.

"Rydia," he shut the door and walked to the edge of her bed to kneel at her feet. "It's very nice to finally meet you."

"You saved me, even though you didn't have to..." she looked into his eyes, and he realized that he'd torn the very fabric of her world to shreds. "You really didn't mean to kill Mommy or burn the village, did you?"

In the light of her forgiveness, cecil felt the burden of his darkness intensify tenfold. "No, I did not."

All at she slung her arms about his neck as far as the would go and buried her face in his chest, soaking his doublet with her tears. Gaining courage, he placed one hand on her back and another in her thick, green tresses. After a silent moment in which he simply held her, he said in a manor he hoped was soothing ", I promise that I won't let anyone hurt you ever again. Rydia, I will protect you."

"Promise?" she sniffled, staring up at him from the stronghold of his arms.

Another moment passed and they both entered the safety of their own beds, though Rydia's voice soon penatrated the darkness. "Cecil? Can I sleep with you? Only just this once?"

"Come here, Rydia."

And so Cecil went to sleep with the girl nestled into his chest.

* * *

Kaipo was a mid-sized town under the rule of Damcyan. It's north was bordered by a lush oasis which irrigated the town through a series of channels that cut the city into neat, geometric districts. Palm trees lined the street sides in neat rows, and buildings were made of thick, white clay that gleamed underneath the heat of the sun. The people of Kaipo were all tanned from the constant exposure to sunlight and wore coarse, but brightly colored, fabrics. Instead of farming, the the lowliest members of society herded goats or sheep, living in the broad, dusty desert under the sparse shade of cypress trees.

On the third day after arriving in Kaipo Cecil finally felt his ankle was healed enough to go out, and so he set out to replenish their supplies with the little money he had left. He could no longer continue to tarry here, for Baron was a nation that did not waste anymore time than needed in preperation for its operations.

Even if he did not need to pay for the room they inhabited food and drink were still a nessecity, and his purse felt unsatisfactorily thin. Rydia was still sleeping when he left, and he left her in the care of the maid, whom he instructed to assure her of his safe return when she woke.

Cecil stepped out of the inn into the still cool early morning of the city, though the humidity of the oasis kept it from becoming too cold. His hand comfortably on the hilt of his sword, the Dark Knight traveled through the tightly packed homes of the southren most district. Eventually, he emerged ino the central market place, which was packed full of robed people, even early in the morning.

It was while leaving with his supplies that Cecil overheard two old women discussing the latest bit of gossip in hurried whispers.

What first piqued his interest was the description the tall woman gave of the Lady, who had apparently been found by a shepardess collapsed in the desert while she was driving in her sheep ", fair as the desert moons, they say, with hair spun of sunlight and the body of a godling."

"And she was found by a shepardess?" the other, a rotuned dark haired woman, placed her hand over her mouth, her dark eyes dancing with exitement.

"Yes!" exclaimed the other, clutching her friend's hand in both her own. "And she keeps muttering a man's name over and over again. They say that he's her lover, a Lord from Baron!"

The heavy woman drew an audible breath. "Tell me more, dearest!"

"I have it on a very reputable source that his name is Cecil Harvey," at this Cecil's heart skipped several beats.

The other's eyes widdened even further, and her cheeks flushed with suprise. "The Dark Knight, Cecil Harvey? The one who massacred Mysidia!"

Cecil froze. Perhaps enlisting help from other countries would be more difficult than he initially had thought. If even the common people knew his name, surely those in power would. Treating with them went from difficult to impossible, and his heart sank. Still, he would not give up. Baron must be stopped.

The bony woman nodded gravely ", yes. The latest news out of Baron is that he's passed away."

"Serves him right," the other woman sniffed, placing both hands on her hips. "Say, do you think she went looking for him?"

It was at this point in their conversation that Cecil left, moving a far away from them as possible. After a frantic moment, Cecil stopped, realizing he'd absolutely no idea where she was. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to tug on the sleeve of one of the many citizens in the market. A man with a blonde man turned to face him, looking confused when he saw the one who had hailed him was not someone he recognized.

"Forgive me, but I have a question. The Lady the shepardess rescued, where are they keeping her?" his voice sounded too frantic, and he wondered if the man would snap at him.

Instead, his face softened, and he smiled kindly. "The young Lady is staying with the Shcliefers in the north district. Its a modest mansion with a domed blue roof. You can't miss it."

"Thank you for your time, sir," Cecil inclined his head and then set off to the north.

He reached the district heat of noon, and found that his ankle throbbed from walking, but he could not quit and go back when he was so close. The north district was spread apart, inhabited by the rich merchants of Kaipo. In the country of Damcyan, nobles were often the families who had been in business the longest. The rich here, Cecil realized, could not possibly be as rich as those who lived in Damcyan's capital city of Saffrom, and so their palaces must be much more grand than those found here.

It did not take him long to find the mansion he was looking for, and he reached up to knock on the door, which was flung open before his knuckles even thouched the wood.

"If you're here to bother that poor girl, then leave!" squwaked the voice of an elderly man, who began to slam the door just as quickly as he'd opened it.

Cecil stuck his foot out and stopped him fom shutting it.

"She doesn't need any more company, sick as she is," snapped the voice.

Cecil pried open the door. "No! You don't understand! I am the Cecil she speaks of! Please-!"

The man ceased all attempts to resist and opened the door completely. Cecil found himself staring at a man with a full, greying brown beard and hard, but wise, green eyes. "You're Cecil?"

"I am. If she came here looking for me, I would very much like to see her," he said, ignoring the skeptisism in the man's voice. "Please. Rosa... Rosa means so much to me."

The man suddenly pulled him inside, moving with a speed suprising for someone of his age. "Listen, boy, she's very sick, so even if you're there in the room with here, she won't see you. About all we can do right now is wait for her to die."

"What!" Cecil, completly unrestrained and not at all thinking clearly, grabbed the man by the shoulders; his vision flashing red, his heart thundering in his ears. "No! There is a cure for every sickness! There must be a way to save her!"

The old man stared at him for a moment, "you really do know her, don't you?" He shook his head dissmissivly. "There is a way, but the chances of saving her are slim, as her condition is already advanced. You'd have to go to Damcyan, recieve premission from the nobles to go to the place where the cure is, get the cure, and come back in five days. After that, I don't think there's much chance of saving her."

Cecil released the man and turned away, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood ", what do I need?"

"A Sand Pearl," the old man replied ", but, like I said, you'd have to get premission from the Damcyan royalty to go and get it. It's in the Antlion's Den, and Antlion's are so rare that the common people aren't allowed to see them."

"Then I'll do it," he resolved, turning back to face the man.

"She's back this way," the man said with a sigh ", but you shouldn't stay long if you want to make it back in time to save her."

He led Cecil down a hallway off to the left and opened one of the side doors to reveal a small room with only a single bed. On this bed was the form of a woman, a form Cecil recognized without prompting.

Though his heart had been thundering in his ears before, now it stopped cold.

She was flushed, clearly fevered, her skin glistening and slick with sweat. Her blonde hair was plastered to her face.

He stummbled to her side and fell to his knees beside her, running his hand along the length of her jaw tenderly. It made his heart ache just to look at her, and he placed his forehead against hers, his fingers trembling, his jaw taught.

"Rosa... Rosa, hold on," he muttered. "I promise I will save you. I promise I will come back to you with the Sand Pearl."

After a silent moment he stood and walked from the room, past the man and down the hall. He heard the old man trailing after him. Without a glance back, Cecil exited the mansion and returned to the inn, where Rydia was waiting for him.

"Cecil, what's wrong?" she demanded as he walked into the room, speaking in the manor typical of all women, no matter what their age.

"I have to go to Damcyan, Rydia," he explained. "A friend of mine has fallen ill, and I must go entreat the help of the nobles there in order to save her."

"Then I'm coming with you," she insisted, placing her hands on her hips and daring him to defy her with his eyes.

"Rydia, it's dangerous, you can't-"

"No!" she said indignantly. "I can use magic, Cecil! I can help you!"

He stared at her a long moment and then nodded, " fold the clothing the maid gave you and place it on my bed. I'll finish packing, and then we'll be off."

He'd only conceded because there was no arguing with a woman when she spoke in that tone. There was no way he could have won that arguement.

They left after a brief goodbye and set out within the hour, after gathering their supplies together. Cecil had packed his armor away in their supply bag, but he had slung his sword about his waist. He would not go out into the desert unarmed, no matter how "well traveled" it was.

According to the Inn Keeper they were heading for a cavern several miles to the north, the only route to Damcyan from Kaipo unless they were to charter an airship. Though Cecil relished the idea of flying through the air, chartering an airship involved Baron, and Baron's military, no doubt; there were very few commercial airships, even in Baron. He could not risk Rydia, or himself (for as long as Rosa was in danger, he could not die - he was the only one who would save her), by taking them up in a Baroni airship.

The two companions were slow, at first, but Cecil soon remedied this by picking up Rydia and carrying her in his arms. Even if his paced slowed because he was carrying both his youthful charge and the equipment, they made faster time becasue Cecil did not constantly have to stop walking to wait for her to catch up to him.

To Cecil's suprise, they had reached the cavern's mouth by nightfall the next day without event. They set camp in the cool green near the entrance, where Cecil taught Rydia useful things, like how to pitch a tent and start a fire. In return the girl told him wild stories about the Eidolons her people could conjuer. Cecil decided to return her stories that night with one of his own as she prepared for bed.

"Long ago," he began ", there were two brothers who were born to the Sky and Night. They were both very great men, though one was forced to stay in the Heavens with his parents, while the other was called to roam the Earth in search of his fortune. This is a story of the younger of the two brothers, Gaelach, the Father God of the Baroni."

"One evening, the brothers were comunicating through the scrying glass in Heaven's Crystal Palace and the great lake that would later become Lake Baron. Breithe said to his brother 'there is a tribe in the south who has the potential to become great teachers and mystics. I would like you to go and teach them my Arts.'

'But, brother,' Gaelach objected ', I do not know your ways.'

'Read the arcane tome you recived from Night, our father, and you will understand. Tell my people, these Mysidi, that they are only to use my Arts for practical reasons, never for war. Tell them to preach peace to the other seedling tribes of the world, and charge them to teach those with potential in my arts,' Brethie instructed his brother.

'I will do as you ask.'

And so Gaelach set out for the land across the sea, where he found a tribe of dark haired people who buzzed with the energy called 'Magic.' He spent many years teaching them his brother's ways, enstructing them in his edicts, and living amoung them. Soon, they came to know his brother so well that he passed to them the Crystal of Fire so that they may commune with him themselves. When he at last left them they were no longer a tribe of nomads, but a small village; four-hundered and nintey-six years had passed.

He returned to his land to find that he was no longer alone.

A city of stone rose up along the banks of the river, and though it was crude it was certainly advanced. No where else in the world was there a place like this, posessing the refinement of society. Still, they were crude. Gaelach resolved to teach them of morality, of honor, of warfare, and of justice.

They were not so unwise that these people, the extremly hardworking Baroni, could not recognize a God when he walked amoung them, and so they worshiped Gaelach and learned the lessons he had to teach.

Gaelach lived amoung them for only a quarter of the tme he had lived amoung the Mysidi, but his people learned much, and they loved him dearly. When he left, they did not weep, as the Mysidi had, but rejoiced for him, as he was finally allowed to return home, to the arms of Sky, his mother. They were pleased that he had loved them enough to teach them of his ways, and so they threw him a grand going away party. They still celebrate this festival today during the longest night of the year in the dead of winter, when the Royal Family of Heaven stays out at night to smile down upon the people of the world, their children."

Rydia had fallen asleep by the time he'd finished with his tale, exhausted from the long journey, though he'd done most of the work. Smiling, Cecil began his careful vigil, and only allowed himself to rest when the Twin Moons had set and the first rays of light peered though the distant eastern mountain peaks.


	5. Filler: The Longest Night

Gaelach Brethie: Filler Chapter

**The Longest Night**

_"Sing of joy, of joy tonight!" _chorused a plethora drunken voices, rising to the ceiling and then falling from it again in a deafening echo that shook the foundations of the very room. _"Sing boldly on this Longest Night! For long ago our God did rise- Up and up to lofty skies!"_

The small, square headquarters of the Baron Red Wings was filled to the point of bursting with men, all garbed in their traditional armor; the red surcoats, bronze armor, and maroon capes emblazoned with the Harvey family's Coat of Arms. They were crowded around a table where the only man in the room who was not wearing red sat, smiling brightly as he tipped back a tankard filled with cider, stored from this year's particularly prosperous Harvest Festival. Unlike the other men he was clearly sober, but he sang the loudest out of them all.

_"And so we sing of our great love- For our Mighty God in Heaven above! And we conclude with day in sight! We have rejoiced this Longest Night!" _The song drew to a close and the men all clapped and hooted, slapping the man at the table on the back.

He smiled at them, leaning back his chair and propping it up on two legs as he slung his heavy black boots up onto the table. He leaned back his head and raised his mug up into the air, proclaiming in his crisp, clear tenor ", A toast, Red Wings! A toast to Baron! May she prosper long under King Thomas!"

All at once The Red Wings raised their own mugs, most of them sloshing with Baron's notorious golden ale, and parroted in voices full of virile pride, "to Baron! May she prosper long!"

"Unfortunately," said the seated man with a small frown, dropping the chair to two legs ", I must take my leave of you now, my fine gentlemen. You see, I am required to go to the Banquet tonight, though I'd much rather stay here with you. Between you and me, you are much more enjoyable than the Court Families."

"Captain, come back before you retire," said one of the Red Wings in a deep voice. "The Red Wings always throw the best parties, and you really know how to relax, sir!"

"Unlike Captain Marx," muttered another from the back of the room, and the Captain laughed, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I will be sure to come and see you again, gentleman, you have my word!" he stood fluidly, placing his gloved hands on the table and peering up at his men from underneath his black headband ", but until then I must bid you adieu."

As he made his way through the press of bodies, disappearing among men who were all several inches taller than he, but none who seemed to carry themselves with the same sort of dignity, the Red Wings cheered him on. It was apparent that the men all adored their young Captain, though he was green, for his ardent pursuit of his Knightly duties as well as the firm yet temperate manor in which he led them. If any man be both mild-mannered and deadly it was their Captain.

At last he broke free of the room and into the night air outside of the castle, only to enter the nearby North Western tower, moving as fast as his legs could carry him. Reaching the top, the young man threw open the bedroom door to find a fine doublet of black silk already laid out on his bed, along with a pair of freshly laundered pants, his good pair of boots, newly shined, a crisp white undershirt, and an ornamental diadem that made him frown.

"You'd best hurry," said a smooth voice from behind the door, causing the Captain to jump.

"Don't sneak around, Kain!" hissed the man, throwing his other clothing onto the floor as he changed into his dress garb. "I always wear my sword and I can't guarantee I won't mistake you for an assassin!"

"As if you could kill me, Cecil," said the one called Kain with a haughty smile, his nearly amber eyes glinting from the darkness.

"I think you underestimate my skills, my friend," Cecil placed the diadem on his head, trying to make it as neat as he possibly could without the use of a mirror, or, even more desirable, a maid. "How do I look? Princely?"

"Passable," Kain smirked, handing Cecil a ball of black fabric. "Don't forget your cloak. If you're not wearing it I think Rosa is likely to kill you."

"Passable is good," Cecil said, ignoring Kain's comment. "Passable says 'I am here out of the goodness of his heart, not because I want the position,' don't you think?"

"Either that or it says 'I'm too lazy and spoiled to care how I impress on my adoptive father, who just _happens_ to be The King of Baron,'" Kain pointed out, and Cecil frowned at him. "What? You asked, and I gave an honest response."

The two were practically jogging now down the corridors of Castle Baron, nearing the Banquet Hall. The two slowed to a walk when they saw torch light ahead, bathing the stone hallways in a sunset orange glow. They were met by a young woman with blonde hair so thick that her hair piece barely restrained it. The look on her face was stern. "What are you two doing, showing up so late? Don't you realize that it's nearly time to begin? I expected better from both of you, especially-!"

"Is now really the time to be arguing?" asked another voice from behind the two young men. "Hello, Lady Farrell, Sir Highwind, Sir Harvey, how are you this evening?"

"Oh, Sir Monroe," Cecil saluted the man, who was a respected member of the Dark Knight Corp. "It's good to see you back in Vangrad. How are your daughters?"

The middle-aged man smiled, his brown eyes crinkling at the edges. "Why don't you ask them yourself, Young Sir, they're here today."

"Rosa! Rosa, come here! We need to find our seats!" from the direction of the large doors rushed a tired looking woman in a pink bodice. "Hello Young Master Highwind," the woman curtsied ", and you, too, Harvey." She nodded vaguely

Cecil was expecting much worse, usually she did not acknowledge him at all, but as Sir Monroe was here she was clearly trying to be polite and give a good impression. Though he did not blame her, he had been inadvertently responsible for Rosa's father's death, though he thought there might be a bit more to her coldness than that, at times.

"Mother, be polite, Cecil is-!" Rosa hissed under her breath, but Cecil shook his head.

"Hello, Matron Farrell," Cecil said, bowing low. "Unfortunately, I cannot stay in your presence any longer. I'm afraid his Highness will be expecting me." he turned to Sir Monroe. "I am pleased to see you again, Sir Monroe. Hopefully we will have more time to chat later. "He smiled at Kain and took Rosa's hand, pressing his lips to it chastely. "I'll talk to you later, Kain, Rosa."

Cecil walked confidently up to the twin doors and was admitted noiselessly by the guardsmen. As soon as he stepped into the vast, torch lit, banquet hall, he was pulled into the nearest crowd of gossiping nobles by Sir Baigan, who hissed into his ear ", where have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour ago!"

"Was I?" Cecil asked innocently. "Well, I must have lost track of time. I'm sorry, Sir Baigan."

"Don't you 'Sir Baigan' me, you-!"

"Cecil!" bellowed the voice of the King, and Cecil was liberated from Baigan's grasp.

Cecil found himself underneath the arm of the King, whose surcoat was a deep maroon, the Harvey Family Coat of Arms emblazoned nobly upon his breast in stunning gold. "I am sure you all remember Cecil? He was only a whelp when you saw him last, but after a brief two year absence he has grown into a man before my eyes."

The King looked down at him with eyes full of pride and love, and Cecil felt himself automatically shrink from such a gaze. He felt unclean before the splendor of a man so noble and kind.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Cecil said.

The King's smile only widened. "Yes, Cecil is already a Dark Knight, you know! Amazing, he is, a real prodigy!"

"Aye, Cecil," said a friendly voice from beside him. "Yer' kids always grow up too fast. I know how he feels."

Cecil turned to see Cid, smiling at him with kind eyes from beyond the ginger avalanche of his beard. He smiled at Cid in return and was about to respond, but the King beat him to it. "Cid, old friend! I'm so glad you could be here tonight!"

"And miss the celebration?" Cid gasped. "Yer' Highness, you are talking to a man who loves ale more than anything else in the world, excepting airships and his daughter. And 'sides, how could I turn down the invitation of a king?"

Cecil looked at the King and saw, for the first time, Thomas Harvey, an aging man who had found contentment in his later years. It was a contentment he'd never found in his youth. The King looked at the others surrounding them, including Cid, and told them ", if you don't mind leaving Cecil and myself now. I have some things that I'd like to talk about with him in private. Come along, Cecil, the balcony overlooking Lake Baron is this way."

Cecil tailed the king, stepping out onto the balcony. Two guardsmen in vogue moved to stand watch at the twin doors that opened up to the moon bathed stones. Thomas Harvey shut the two doors behind them securely, removed his diadem, and sat on the stone bench against the wall, patting it as a sign that it was okay for Cecil to sit as well.

"I remember one of the last times I was up here during The Longest Night feast when I was yet a young man. I had several others with me then. Matthew Farrell sat over there," he pointed to the other bench, to their right. "Devon Monroe was at his feet, talking about his intentions to start a family. Richard Highwind was standing behind his sister, Cecilia Harvey, my wife, making sure she didn't do something careless and fall." Thomas closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, smiling tiredly, sadly, as if he longed with all his heart to be able to turn back the clock to those times. "Next to me, where you are now, sat a man that I was very much curious about. His name was Kale Hansen, and he was the strangest man I have ever met."

Cecil watched the king's face intently, looking for signs of what he would say next. Cecil knew of these people, he'd just talked to Devon Monroe, and he had known Sir Richard and Sit Matthew; they had been very much alive until the events two years ago. Of course, everyone knew of Cecilia Harvey, for her story was very much a scandal. She had been married to the king, but he had annulled their marriage and banished her from the kingdom for reasons that no one seemed to know. The last man, however, this Kale Hansen, Cecil had never heard of before. The king opened one eye and peered at Cecil from it. "I very much believe that Kale was your true father, and I have always postured that Cecilia was your mother."

Cecil could not find the words to reply with, and the king seemed to understand, for he closed his eye again and turned his face ever so slightly away. Softly, he continued to speak. "There are not too many men in the world with hair made of moonlight, Cecil, and skin that is as soft and white as snow that will surely begin to fall before the night is over. Kale was one of them, and with those eyes of yours, Cecilia's eyes, I truly believe that you are their son." A stricken look passed over the king's features, even though his eyes were closed. "So, for this reason I wanted to apologize to you. It is because of Cecilia's love for Kale that I annulled our marriage and banished her from Baron. It is my weakness in being unable to accept that the woman I loved was not meant for me that undoubtedly ended their lives and orphaned you. After all, I have no doubt that, had they stayed in Baron, the country would have protected them. Cecilia and Kale alike were both strangely beloved by people everywhere they went."

"I don't remember them ,sir," Cecil said after a long pause in which the king's predicted snowflakes began to fall; it was going to be a very light snow fall, Cecil noted. "So there's no need for you to apologize to me for anything. All I remember is Baron."

"I know that's not true, Cecil," Thomas chided in the way all father's chide their sons. "I know for a fact that you just told me a lie."

Cecil turned his face toward the king's and met his eyes unflinchingly. "I don't know if that's really a memory, sir. It could just be a fantasy, something I fabricated so that I could imagine I had some kind of happy childhood before Baron."

"But it's all you have. You shouldn't dismiss it so lightly."

Cecil closed his eyes and pictured in his mind the face of the man he thought might be his father for one fleeting moment, smiling and laughing at him. Of his mother he had no memory, only the ring that he always had on his person, even if he was not wearing it. "I feel as if he still exists, even if he is not truly alive, or on this plane. And I wonder why he would leave me in the forest to die."

Thomas seemed to think for awhile before he spoke, his voice cutting through the dark, cold night, releasing wispy, white steam into the air. "I don't believe Kale would have abandoned you, Cecil. He may have been one peculiar man, but he was not the sort to ever abandon someone he considered family. Devon, Richard, Matthew and I learned it when he saved us from deadly attack after deadly attack when our airship went down over the Adamant Isle. No, whatever happened to that man, your father, he likely had to be cleaved from you."

"Then, you are saying that he loved me," Cecil near whispered, and to his surprise the king suddenly looked very sad.

Gently, he placed a hand on Cecil's shoulder and stared him in the eyes ", Cecil, I know how The Dark Sword crushed you, but you still must realize that there are those in your life who love you dearly." Grimly, he added ", what happened in Petuin was not your fault. Those people loved you as well, or they would have not gone to save you. Darias adored you, Cecil, and couldn't wait until the day you joined the military ranks; he wanted to serve with you. Leia Pollendina thought of you as a son, and Matthew and Richard couldn't have loved you more if they had wanted to, even if Richard was reluctant to show it." Smiling, he moved his hand to the top of Cecil's head. "And Rosa and Kain love you now, as does Lord Monroe, and Cid, and myself. You are not as alone as you think you are, my son."

"Father-" Cecil began, but stopped himself when he realized what he had said. He had sworn he would never call Lord King Thomas Harvey that, that he would try not to think of the man before him in such a way, but it seemed that it was inevitable.

Thomas smiled at Cecil and patted his head affectionately, picking his diadem up off of the stone bench and standing. "I shall consider that your Longest Night gift to me, as I know you always forget to get gifts." Cecil began to stutter, but the King's robust laughter silenced him. "Let us go, Cecil, and partake in the festivities. I fear my old bones grow cold," he sighed wistfully. "Oh, to be young again..."

Cecil dutifully followed the King, his father in all but blood and title, into the banquet hall, eager to be with those who loved him, and whom he loved in return.


	6. Chapter Four: Fire from Heaven

Gaelach Brethie

Chapter Four: Fire from Heaven

Cecil had scarcely nodded off when he was jarred awake by the acute snapping of a twig and an utterance of surprise by Rydia. Frantically, he scuttled for his sword, but his muscles relaxed when he saw the girl splayed out on the ground, their scant pile of kindling scattered all about. It appeared she had only tripped.

"I didn't mean to wake you!" she exclaimed when she saw him sitting up, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

The Dark Knight shook his head slowly and ran a hand through his hair, fighting off fatigue ", no, it's all right. We've already wasted a full day. I cannot afford to sleep any longer; Rosa's life depends on it."

Rydia walked toward him and took one of his hands in both of her tiny ones ", then let's go. I've already put away most everything except the tent."

He blinked at her a few times, surprised by her maturity, then nodded and stood, blinking into the early morning sunlight.

The pair set out again soon after, Rydia insisting that she walk on her own. Cecil agreed only because of how cool it was, and because there was no longer any sand to encumber her. When she asked if she could carry some equipment, however, he told her no; he needed to move quickly, for Rosa's sake.

Once they entered the cavern, Cecil found the floor to be slick with water. It seemed that the cavern was the home of a massive underground lake that plummeted deep into the earth. Now the two of them stood at the top of a well-worn path that descended into the deep darkness of the Earth herself.

Cecil's eyes were quick to adjust to the poor lighting (as they always had. The knight thought he saw better in the dark sometimes.), and when he looked down at Rydia he was surprised to see her cupping a ball of glowing blue energy in her hands that crackled and zipped with tension.

"Don't worry," she told him. "I can help us see with this!"

The look on her face was proud, and Cecil chuckled, for a moment forgetting his worries and fears. Then he shook his head, "can you hold it up higher, please?"

Rydia nodded her head, but the light wasn't very bright, and what little illumination it did provide was more of a hindrance than a help, as it caused Cecil's eyes to no longer be adjusted. Still, for a child to be able to conjure an unwavering light … Cecil was no magician, but he thought that it might be unusual.

"Put it away and take my hand, Rydia," he commanded after a moment of contemplating their choices. "Conserve your energies for more important things." When she hesitated he smiled reassuringly at her. "We won't fall. I can see in the dark."

Nodding as if it were of the utmost importance, Rydia made the light disappear and then fumbled for his hand. Cecil stilled her gropes when he reached backwards with his left hand it took it for himself ", don't be afraid. Just trust me and we'll be fine."

He led them down into the darkness, guiding the girl, whose steps became only a little surer as time went on. Cecil could not be sure how long they traveled through the gloom, but he felt Rydia shivering beside him. He could sense her fear of the inky darkness and what lurked there, feel the rise of the goose bumps on her skin from the cold that had began to penetrate her scant clothing, and hear the chattering of her teeth as she clambered, half blind, through the shadows.

Cecil himself stepped confidently through the pitch black cave, though the footing was unsure. He could hear the distant rushing of water; smell the scent of limestone and the more distant scent of most earth. He could see the details of the stone of the guide wall they walked along. Yet the cold could not hinder him. He did feel it bite at his skin, though it grew colder still as they descended further and further into the bowels of the earth, underneath the Damcyan Mountain Range.

After awhile in the shadows, Cecil saw a glow, and as they grew nearer he could detect the tell-tale wavering that identified it as the glow of fire. As they neared the source, Cecil saw the silhouette of what appeared to be a male form crouched upon a boulder. Rydia grew closer to him, clearly not fond of the idea that they would find someone else this deep underground, which became even more certain when he caught her frightened green eyes and held them.

"Trust me," he whispered, squeezing her hand as they stepped into the circle of protective light, and into the line of sight of the man upon the rock.

He was an unremarkable looking elderly man, snoozing unobtrusively while sitting crossed legged atop a squat boulder, apparent by a sudden snort, made thunderous in the cavern. His face was lost in a sea of chaotic white hair, accompanied by a beard long enough that it touched the tips of his knees from where his head fell. His spectacles shone in the torchlight like two, blue coins, and the color of his long coat was the same pink of the cheeks of a blushing woman. The color stood out against the blue darkness of the cavern.

Cecil took another step toward him, but tensed when he felt the air draw up around him, filling itself with the static of Magic. With the reflexes of someone who was at the peak of his physicality, Cecil drew his sword and slashed downward, summoning the darkness. It met the nearly formed shot of freezing Magic in midair, creating a flash so bright that it momentarily blinded the Dark Knight.

When the light faded, Cecil was staring at the standing form of the squat old man, who was leaning on his gnarled oaken staff. He had a thoughtful frown upon his face and stroked his chin carefully ", so you're a Dark Knight."

"And you're a Magi," replied Cecil, sheathing his sword and giving the man a bland look

"Don't be smart with me," snapped the man in his gravely voice. "I could use your help, and you, if I'm not mistaken, could use mine."

"Who are you?" demanded the Dark Knight, his stance suddenly defensive as he felt the drip of blood down his abdomen from his attack.

"That depends upon whom you ask," said the man, stepping forward. "Some say I'm a washed up old hat. Others say that I'm a Master of Magic. You, youngling, may call me Sage Tellah. Now, who are you? And what are you doing bringing your daughter into such a place?" the old man motioned to the rock he'd been sitting on only a moment before. "Sit down and let me see your ankle."

"What? No! Rydia is not my daughter!" Cecil protested. 'Rydia is not my daughter!"

The old man grabbed his arm and pushed him onto the boulder he had risen from only moments before, forcing him to sit. He then proceeded to snatch his ankle, examining it. "You're right. She's a Conjurer; clearly not related to you. Your Magics are _completely _different, although-" he paused and twisted Cecil's ankle around painfully. "Hm. Yes. I do sense a hint of the Divine about you. Tell me; were either one of your parents a Priest or Priestess in a religious order?"

"Divine? Priest in a religious order?" Cecil gasped as the man pulled on his ankle. "Stop that!"

"Respect your elder's boy!" the man held out his hand, fingers out spread over Cecil's ankle. "No, you don't know your parents. If you did, you would have been quicker to answer my question." He paused thoughtfully. "What was your name again?"

"I am called Cecil, but-" he ceased speaking as a feeling like a million pinpricks penetrated his leg and washed over his body in steady pulsations, though it was concentrated in his ankle.

"Hm. Blind one? Fascinating." The old man backed away, patting Cecil's ankle proudly; the feeling in Cecil's body subsided. "I wonder what your namers were thinking when they named you?"

"I was told I was named for my mother, in all likelihood," said Cecil, flexing his ankle and finding that no pain lingered there. "At least, the assumption is that Lady Cecilia Highwind was my mother."

"Highwind? Of the Baron Dragon Knights?" Ah, so you hail from Baron," his eyes narrowed as he looked the Dark Knight up and down. "Yes, there _is_ a bit of Baroni in you features. Strong nose, bright eyes. The rest of you is purely divine, however. You don't have features like _that _and not have one of the Gods in your family tree somewhere."

"I'm sorry, but there must be a mistake. I am only a man."

The Sage Tellah snorted ", who did they tell you your father was, boy? A Baigan? A Monroe? A Johanson? What surname do you claim as your own?"

Cecil looked away form Tellah, hesitant to answer. Most people outside of Baron did not know the surname of the Royal Clan. This old man, however, was clearly not a commoner. In fact, if Cecil had to hazard a guess, he would guess that the man was from Mysida and had received commendations from the Brethian Order. At last, he answered ", Harvey. I am called Cecil Harvey."

"You're the orphan whelp of Baron? The princeling?" the man raised his bushy eyebrows. "I thought they kept the princeling locked away ever since he was captured by Troians. Quit pulling my leg!"

"I am not lying," he said, mildly offended. "I am _not_ Baron's princeling, however. I never have been, and I certainly never will be." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I find it troubling, the number of misconceptions there are about me outside of Baron."

"If you are not the princeling, then what are you?" the man sniffed.

Impatience tingled down Cecil's spine ", a Dark Knight whose time you are wasting with idle chatter. I am trying to save the life of a dear friend and you are in the way."

"Ah, that brings me back to the point," Tellah crossed his arms over his chest assertively. "I could use your help, as well as the help of the girl, in defeating the beast that has made its home in this cave. I, too, need to reach Damcyan. My daughter's welfare depends upon it."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Cecil asked, grabbing Rydia's hand once more and pushing onward through the gloom. "I've not a moment to waste. Time is of the essence."

"Indeed it is," asserted Tellah, scrambling after the Dark Knight, his oaken staff clicking against the rocks at a vigorous pace.

Cecil looked back, and then shook his head, pausing long enough for the man to catch up before the three companions plunged further into the darkness.

* * *

The Man of Darkness stepped down the hallways of Castle Baron, his feet bringing him to the top of the Northwest Tower, which had previously been inhabited by the man he now considered his enemy.

He placed his hand upon the oaken door, something at the back mind causing him to hesitate for the briefest of moments, but the fleeting second passed as iron claws once again enclosed themselves about his soul. _It is nothing_, he told himself, his billowing cape blown back as he flung the door open. _It is only my imagination. This is nothing; only a gnat would dare oppose me, thinking more of its significance than it should._

He had made the trek here, despite his time restraints, because he wanted to know more about the man who stood against him. His new favorite pawn would divulge nothing more than words of hatred and bitterness. Others gave him even less, no matter is methods of persuasion he used. Thus Golbez had come, to the room of his enemy, that he may know the other's mind; surely he could not be a complicated man.

Golbez came first to the wardrobe, thrusting open the heavy doors and staring at its contents. Cecil Harvey, for all the pomp behind his title, had inexpensive, study clothing that suggested the humility of someone of a lower station. He owned only two, good, court worthy doublets, and one pair of good pants (though his military uniform was suspiciously missing). The rest of his clothing consisted of plain wool shirts of coarse weave that could not be very comfortable, and assorted leather armor that Golbez could only assume would provide protection on hunting trips. The most colorful pieces of clothing (beside for his dress doublets) were several solid colored bandanas that the Knight likely used to tie back his hair.

Finding nothing of interest in the wardrobe, Golbez turned to the small bed, which was an uncomfortable military issue cot. This suggested that the man was loathe of his position, or at least felt guilty because of it, being an orphan (as Golbez had gathered). Not a very prideful man himself when it came to the performance of menial tasks, the Dark Lord kneeled down and peered underneath the bed, finding a heavy, wooden box, sealed with an iron lock.

He pulled it from its hiding place, finding that the lock was already broken, making his job easier. Curiosity piqued, he opened the lid and found inside what he had been looking for all the long.

Within this box the Dark Knight kept his most precious memories. There were several carefully folded letters written on yellowed parchment, a girl's hair pin, long and silver, and an eclectic set of trinkets that ranged from a rusty thimble to a broken socket wrench. The Dark Lord removed a piece of parchment from its place and began to read; convinced he could find some fatal weakness that the young Knight possessed in its contents.

The writing upon the paper was neat and small, clearly masculine, though there were sketched in the margins very skillful observational drawings of fields and animals. It spoke of how Cecil was missed in Necrograd by everyone, and that he should come to visit in those airships of his. Golbez continued to read, deciding there was no information to gleaned from it. Boredly, he riffled through he other letters in a similar manner, but stopped dead in his tracks when he reached something interesting.

It was the soft, curving handwriting of a young woman, but was somewhat sloppy, as if she'd been frantically scrawling it across the paper in a fit of intense emotion.

'_Cecil, why won't you respond?'_ It read. _'Kain and I miss you so! Please, Cecil, I'm so worried! I don't even know if you're still alive!'_

After reading several more letters in the same stack, it became apparent to him what had happened; but only after what he remembered what Baigan had said of the boy and the Dark Blade. Cecil Harvey had suffered a Dark Taint so severe that he'd emotionally damaged himself beyond repair. It was doubtful that he would have been able to make new emotional connections for quite awhile after coming in contact with the sword, let alone remember his old ones. That he'd kept this letters meant that the girl must mean a great deal to him, for he _had_ kept them, even through his brokenness. Of course, he would eventually remember his emotional bonds and be able to form them once more, but he would never quite be emotionally whole; he would never look at himself or the world the same way again. Golbez understood the Darkness very well, being of it.

Cecil Harvey was in love with this woman, this Rosa Farrell, and love was a most effective double edged blade.

Rosa was Cecil Harvey's weakness, and, as he recalled after another long moment, another Knight's as well.

Smiling satisfactorily to himself, the Dark Lord replaced the box and its contents and drifted down the stairs to sow the seeds of Cecil's destruction.

* * *

" - and that's why I must go to Damcyan," concluded Tellah.

Cecil was not really paying attention to the man; he was much too busy trying to find his way out of this cave to pay heed to Tellah's inane chatter. However, considering this was about the fifth time Tellah had told the story (he alternated between and stories about his daughter's childhood), Cecil had managed to pick up that Tellah believed a bard to be guilty of seducing his daughter and spiriting her away to Damcyan. In Cecil's experience, that was more likely the kind of thing that a Troian woman would do, or perhaps a particularly well dressed merchant, but bards were generally too wrapped up in their own music to be aware of much else.

Pivoting on his heel, Cecil, who was leading the way, reached out and pulled Tellah (and thus Rydia, who had taken to the old man and was holding his hand) behind him. Holding the sleeve of his jacket to stop him from galling into the shallow pool just below the path, Cecil had to use the left side of his body to block the lashing blow of the beast's tail. Unarmored, the thick, barbed tail left three deep gashes on his left arm, but in the heat of battle, all his sense sharp, he barely felt the sting of the blow. Releasing Tellah, he drew his sword, rushing forward while remaining wary of the footing; Cecil parried another blow from the tail of the great, scaly beast. He dodged right as the clamp like jaws of the long, flat creature shot out at him, ruby red eyes glinting with hunger. Whipping out with his blade, Cecil cut the monster across its soft stomach, but it was resilient and lunged forward, thought its innards were spilling out. Cecil hissed, prepared to feel himself crushed between the jaws, but a flash of light struck the beast between the eyes, sending it, writhing, into the water.

Cecil turned to see Tellah, staff raised above his head, staring at the area where the beast had been only moments before. Suddenly, Cecil felt acute, stinging pain rush to his left side, all too aware of the three, horizontal cuts a long his arm. Hissing in pain, he stumbled forward, but didn't make it far before Rydia rushed to him, faltering a bit on the wet stones, but holding out her hand over his arms ", Cecil , let me help you."

Warmth rushed to his limb, strangely isolated in his arm. It was not like Tellah's tense energy, nor Rosa's naturally warm energy, but was very soft, and reminded him of the dappled sunlight that fought its way through the tree tops. Staring at the wounds, they seemed to evaporate into nothing, and he marveled as not even scars remained; Cecil supposed he was used to Dark Tainted wounds. "It seems I'm always wounded now days," Cecil said lightly, trying to reassure Rydia. "Thank you. Both of you. I would have been part of that creature's diet if you hadn't offered your assistance."

Tellah sniffed, but his stance suggested he was proud ", let's get going. There's a chamber up ahead that it oft used for camping. I don't think any monsters will go near a place that is so filled with the scent of people."

Rydia took Cecil's hand this time as they pushed forward, Tellah leading the way boldly through the darkness; it was as if she were trying to reassure him. There was something that bothered Cecil about the attack, for this was a cave that saw frequented traffic, and such beasts were usually shy around humans. Cecil suddenly felt as if there were something greater here than just Tellah's daughter in need. He wondered if the increased activities of the beasts were connected to the Crystals, but he quickly dismissed the idea when he was unable to come up with a reason for _why _that would be.

Discord is caused in the presence of Evil, said the voice within him, but he paid it not mind; it wasn't often that part of him had anything helpful to say.

The trio made it to the chamber without incident, and Cecil silently set up their camp while contemplating the breeze he felt drifting from further down the passageway. He hoped it meant they would be reaching the surface soon. While he could spend days underground without being terribly bothered, he worried for Rydia and Tellah, who were both vulnerable due to their ages. It would not do for either one of them to spend too much time underground.

They ate a bland meal of dry rations that did little to satisfy Cecil's hunger. Laying out the bed rolls, Cecil sat down and was soon aware of Rydia's soft breathing as he stared into the fire.

"It amazes me how quickly an exhausted child can fall asleep," said Tellah very softly. "She reminds me very much of my own Anna when she was a child."

Cecil glanced at him from the side, not responding; he was worried about Rosa. Every hour he wasted here was an hour that brought Rosa closer to death.

"Not very talkative, are you?" Tellah sighed, looking at the ceiling. "Ah to be a careless young pup again..."

"What manor of beast is it?" Cecil asked suddenly.

"Huh? What's that?" Tellah snapped his head toward Cecil, his eyes narrowed.

"The beast that's blocking the passage. What are we facing?" Cecil rephrased.

"Oh," Tellah paused. "A tentacled monster that is reportedly several stories tall. It-"

Cecil stood and began to shuffle through his pack, removing his mail shirt, his plate armor, and his helm. "Do you know how to work a clasp? It is difficult to put on the armor alone."

Tellah only stared at him, and it was Cecil found that it was his turn to sigh. 'I cannot fight a several story tall monster in my street clothing. I need you to help me with the clasps."

"You'll have to show me how," Tellah replied, and Cecil nodded, demonstrating how to fasten and unfasten the clasps. "Practice while I put on my mail shirt."

Cecil removed his sword from his belt and placed it on the ground, dropping his own, heavy mail shirt over his head. It was something one of the novices would normally do, but all Knights had been in their novitiate at one point, and so they could all do it for themselves.

"You mentioned you were attempting to assist your friend," Tellah said conversationally.

"Rosa has fallen ill with desert fever," Cecil said, unable to keep his voice neutral. "I journey for The Sand Pearl, and Rydia is an orphan, so travels with me."

"And you truly are the Cecil Harvey who was raised by Baron's King?" Tellah asked as he helped Cecil battle with his breast plate.

"I am," Cecil replied. "Though I told you before that I am only a man. It does not matter."

They were silent as they worked to the rest of Cecil's armor one, other than Cecil's occasional instructions to the old mage. When it was finished, Cecil sat back down, though with some difficulty now that he was fully armored (he remembered how difficult that armor had been to move in when he first had earned it), and stared into the distance, his helm beside him.

"I am surprised that someone like you would choose the Dark Sword," Tellah commented after a very long silence; obviously, he was unable to sleep until he spoke what was on his mind. "You may have Darkness in your soul, but your soul itself is not Dark. As I said before, you have a hint of the divine about you. The Darkness doesn't strike me as the path someone like you would take."

"I did not choose the Sword," Cecil responded with a note of finality ", the Sword chose me."

This statement hung in the air until long after their campfire had died.

* * *

The next morning came silently.

Cecil woke after a brief rest, packed up what he could of their campsite, and woke his companions. After a small meal comprised of more rations, they headed out, Cecil's armor striking against the stone of the ground and echoing throughout the expanse of the cavern. A few hours of walking saw the companions stumble into the light, fresh air rushing to meet their faces. Rydia, her eyes quick to adjust to the sunlight, rushed forward into a lush valley that was just the sort of idyllic place one would expect this far away from civilization. Cecil followed her, removing his helm and falling to his knees by a nearby stream, casting aside his gauntlets and helm to splash cool water on his face. He had not been sleeping well or often, and it was starting to grate upon him, though Cecil knew his body would not fail; he had suffered worse at the hands of the Troian militants five years ago.

"We should take a short break," Tellah suggested form behind him. "I think you need it, lad."

As much as Cecil would have liked to protest, he thought it might be nice for Rydia to be able to rest for awhile before delving back into the underground. They would walk the mile across the valley in only a short while, so he supposed it would not hurt to rest for about half an hour.

"I agree," Cecil said, watching as Rydia ran through the flowers nearby, laughing; it made him feel very much at peace.

Tellah sat beside him ", you carry quite the burden on your shoulders, don't you? You carry yourself like a seasoned war veteran, not a youthful Knight."

Cecil stared at Tellah for a long moment before choosing to answer ", in Baron, most young people have been serving their country in some capacity for tow years by the time they are my age. I have been serving for four. Such is the case with most Dark Knights."

Tellah chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment, then he spoke ", at first I wasn't sure I would like you. You're a bit sullen, and you're angry." Cecil was about to protest, but the old mage held up a finger to silence him. "But I can see in you a light unlike any other. It's as if you're the reflection of Gaelach himself. Ultimately, I think you and I could become great allies."

Cecil looked at Tellah, recalling Maude's words. "I am no godling, Tellah, but I will do what you ask. I can tell you care deeply for your daughter, and I do not want you to loose someone who means so much to you; not when I know the pain of loss so sharply."

Tellah stared at him, as if he wanted to say something, but then shook his head and joined Cecil in watching Rydia.

They left only a little while later, Cecil invigorated with his promise to Tellah, and more determined than ever to save Rosa. Together the three companions made their way underground once more, but were soon hindered by the rushing of an underground waterfall.

"The creature should be at the bottom, but it appears the path downward has collapsed," observed Tellah.

"What do we do?" Rydia asked looking expectantly up at Cecil; Tellah, too, was looking to Cecil for direction.

"It appears we must jump," replied the Dark Knight. "I don't believe the drop will be fatal."

Rydia steeled her jaw ", then let's go. We have to save Rosa and Tellah's daughter."

Tellah stared at her admiringly, nodded, and stepped into the shallow pool, allowing himself to be carried away by the roaring currents. Rydia cast Cecil a nervous glace, gulped, and then followed the old magi's example. Without another thought otherwise, Cecil himself stepped off of the ledge. Cool air rushed up to meet him, and he adjusted his body mid-flight so that he would not break every bone in his body upon impact with the water below. Luckily enough, the water wasn't terribly deep or terribly shallow, and Cecil was able to surface and stand up after he had hit the waves below.

"Let's head this way," Tellah replied once he had resurfaced. "I want to get this over with."

Nodding silently, Cecil removed his helm, feeling that he had water in his armor, weighing him down ', yes, though we may be hindered by the- Wait, Rydia! Rydia, where are you?" He suddenly called, frantically, fearing for the little girl's safety.

"Here!" called a small voice, and the two men looked up to see Rydia sitting atop a large rock, waving wildly at them. "I found a path!"

At turtle's pace, Cecil sloshed his way through the chest deep (on him, in any case. The water, at over five feet, made it all the way up to his meager 5'10" chest, short, for a man with the blood of a Baroni noble.) water to the girl, hoisting himself, and then Tellah, up onto the rock.

"Excellent work, girl!" commended the mage, his beard dripping with water: Rydia smiled.

Cecil, sitting on the rock, removed his gauntlets leg plates, sighing as the cumbersome water was released from its metallic prison. Quickly but efficiently, he replaced the armor and stood ", we can't be far off from the exit now. It's best we just follow this pathway."

Again, the companions set out, finding a light bright enough to be the rays of the sun originating form a single point after they had traveled for only a few hours. Cecil felt his muscles tense in ridged anticipation of a fight as they came to the end of the path. He stopped short of the edge, but Tellah strode forward, into the water, prompting a fat, yellow tentacle to raise form the depths, dancing like a snake about to attack.

Cecil launched himself from the top of the rock, battle instinct flaring. He barely felt his own weight as he flew through the air and landed with a splash in the shallows, drawing his sword. He parried the blow of the tentacle that had been about to strike Tellah, though he had some difficulty planting his feet in the water.

He heard Rydia's splash into the water, causing him to spin around. "No! Stay there! Cast from a distance!" Her green eyes widened at his half-barked order, but she obeyed nonetheless.

He then turned to Tellah. "Get back, now!"

He didn't look to see if Tellah had obeyed. Instead, he turned, replacing his visor and mouth guard as the breast rose form the depths, its eyes glowing white as it grinned a cait sith's smile. With it rose eight, sleek tentacles, each posing its own deadly threat, though Cecil deduced its gigantic head was its weak point. "Tellah! Thunder spells aimed at the head! Rydia!" he ordered in true military fashion. "Healing! I will distract the beast!"

Perceiving him, its previous attacker, as the greatest threat, three tentacles shot out at him, one from the left, another from the right, and the last from above. Stepping backwards with a few quick back steps, two of the tentacles slammed into one another at full speed. The other adjusted its trajectory and made its way for Cecil's head. Cecil pivoted as it dove downward, narrowly missing his chest by a margin of feet. Wiping his blade, the Dark Knight briefly felt the resistance of flesh, but no bone made his sword slide through the limb as if it were made of no more than warm lard. An earsplitting shriek emanated from the great beast as it withdrew its arm, its dark green blood pooling beneath the water. Furious, it attacked with five of its remaining arms. Concentrating, Cecil moved to dodge each tentacle. One was nearly victorious in pummeling him when he made a near-fatal miscalculation. However, he was able to correct at the last second and jump away, landing in a crouched position in the water.

Glancing upward sharply when he heard the rumble of thunder, the young Knight saw that Tellah had somehow conjured a storm inside the cave. Its dark clouds turned the water green as gale forced wind caused it to throw itself against the beast, battering the creature, who roared in sudden confused fury, turning its attention toward Rydia.

Allowing Darkness to saturate his limbs, Cecil threw himself in the way of the attack, blocking the three tentacles with his sword. He was only able to stave off the strength of the monstrosity because of the Darkness that churned through him, sinking deep in his stomach. He could feel blood dripping down his shoulder blades, down his abdomen, and down his arms as he made a grunt of exertion, flinging the tentacles away with a display of god-like strength.

Just in time, Tellah's cloud burst, a great flash of blue momentarily blinding the Dark Knight as the sound of a terrible shriek filled the cavern, deafening him. Soon, the noise turned into a soft wail before it petered into nothing all together, leaving Cecil with the smell of burnt fish filling his nostrils.

Once more, Rydia's soothing Magic rushed over his muscles and his wounds evaporated into nothing. Tellah made his way toward Cecil and offered him a hand. "You've won my respect, young man. I've never seen such a display of swordsmanship in all of my life, and I've met some impressive men."

Cecil took the hand offered, though he assisted Tellah a bit in hoisting him to his feet. "I've not seen a spell that powerful since I was last in Mysidia during the Lunar Festival. I believe I was ten years old, at the time."

"To be honest, I was lucky to recall the spell," Tellah held out his hand to Rydia. "Let's get out of here. Anna and Cecil's Lady await."

They made their way around the deep water the monster had clipped into, dead, and out into a wave of heat that Cecil knew very well was not the worst of the desert day. Looking toward the twilight sky, Cecil saw something that made his blood run cold.

Smoke.

"No!" Setting off at full speed up a sandy incline, he cast his helmet and gauntlets to the ground.

In the sky hung a formation he knew all too well, having been one of its advocates, from a tactical standpoint. Flying toward him were five dark shapes that became clearly defined as airships as they moved nearer. When the roar of propellers at last filled his ears, he tore his eyes form the blood red airships and out into the desert, where the tell-tale orange red glow of a Red Wing's fire bombing hung on the horizon.

Safrom was burning.

He was too late.

Baron had Damcyan's Crystal.


	7. Chapter Five: The Sand Pearl

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Five: The Sand Pearl

All about them the city of Saffrom burned. Cecil had been to the city once before, as a boy of about eight years. His Highness had taken him along on a diplomatic visit to Damcyan, where he had encountered the royal family, the Muirs. Then, it had been a sparkling metropolis full of life. Beach white buildings extended to the ever-blue sky and the gold domed palace slept in the distance, keeping watch of the bustling desert city. Though it had been very hot, everyone was hard at work, their skin tan and care worn, their smiles bright and their laughter infectious.

Now, Saffrom lay in ruins at Cecil's feet, wails of despair rising from the ruins of the city. Uncontrollable rage and sorrow gripped Cecil in its throes. Everywhere there was death; the stench of burnt flesh filled his nose, ash from once beautiful trees stung his eyes, and the taste that fire brought sat bitterly in his mouth. They stopped whenever they could to help the injured and dying, but Cecil did not step forward lest he be mistaken for an enemy.

It was nearly too much for the Dark Knight to bear.

First the raid on Mysidia, for which he had been personally responsible, and now this catastrophe. Cecil could not help but feel awash in his own helplessness, unable to do anything to save these people from the terror of a Red Wing's fire bombing.

Rydia hugged close to Cecil's side and buried her face in the armor of his leg, despite the fact that it was uncomfortable. He placed a hand on her head, knowing how the fire and the cries of the dying must remind her all too well of Mist, another one of his innumerable mistakes. Perhaps he was cursed; it certainly seemed that way, for many had suffered on his account.

The group scaled the charred stairs of the palace after what seemed an eternity adrift in a sea of flame. The doors had been blown off of their hinges by what Cecil could only assume to be magic and lay on the once fine marble floor inside. The corpses of the Damcyite Royal Guard littered the ground level, some bleeding, others burnt so badly they were beyond recognition as Human beings. Cecil pulled Rydia more closely toward his side as they climbed another flight of stairs to what Cecil remembered as the throne room.

Their footsteps echoed hollowly against the tiles as they ascended, entering a room that must have once been very grand; though now the tapestries were ripped and bloodied, and a gaping hole in the ceiling allowed strands of feeble dawn-light to seep through.

The desperate sobs of a young man pierced the destruction. He was crumpled pathetically before the throne, grasping the corpse of a woman in a yellow gown, thought they were not yet close enough to discern the details of the heartbreaking scene.

Tellah, without so much as a whisper of warning, charged forward, brandishing his oaken staff as he rushed the young man. Cecil, taken aback, did not realize what was happening until the man on the floor had stumbled back, narrowly dodging the erratic downward blow of the aging man.

"You scalawag!" Tellah bellowed. "You killed her!"

"Please-!" The voice of the young man was pleading, a soft, almost melodic tenor. "I didn't-! You don't understand!"

Tellah struck at him again, and he scrambled to his feet, dodging the blow and holding up his hands. Tellah would have none of that, "You spoony bard!"

"Father ... Edward ...," Cecil, who had made his way to the side of the body along with Rydia, was shocked when its pale green eyes fluttered open and the seeming corpse spoke.

An arrow protruded from her stomach, restricting her speech. Cecil cast his gauntlets and helm aside, pulling her into his lap and brushing her thick, brown, tresses from her face. "Stop fighting! This woman is trying to speak!" He commanded in a voice that filled the vacuous chamber with echoes.

Tellah and the man, Edward, if the woman's words were any indication, immediately dashed across the room and threw themselves to their knees to be at her side.

She peered at Edward through the haze of death, a haze Cecil knew all too well, and placed the fingers of a working woman on the side of his unblemished face. "Edward..." she turned her gaze toward Tellah, "I love him, father..."

"Anna..." Tellah's gravely voice caught in his throat, filled with a sorrow that Cecil could not begin to fathom; the sorrow of a parent losing their child.

"He's the prince of Damcyan," she explained, her other hand reaching to touch the side of her father's face. The man had removed his spectacles to reveal the same green eyes, shining with tears. "He's ... a good man."

Her words were growing weak now, and Cecil knew it would not be long until she slipped into eternity. Her breath rasping, she turned to Prince Edward once more, using the last of her strength to speak. He was clutching her hand to his face, and Cecil could see how difficult it was becoming for him to hold back the flood gates of his sorrow. 'Edward ... I ... love ... you..."

With those last words she fell still and breathed no more.

For a moment, Prince Edward did not move, as if he could not fully process that his beloved had left this world, but the Dark Knight soon detected the tell tale trembling of grief in his hands.

"Who did this?" Tellah demanded of Prince Edward tactlessly, awash in his own grief.

"A man named Golbez stood at the helm of the attackers," Prince Edward said in a voice so soft that it was a wonder Tellah, who now stood and was pacing, his footfalls echoing in the cavernous rooms, could hear it. "My parents and Anna both shielded me from their arrows."

"Golbez," Tellah growled, spinning about. "I will have your head!"

"Wait," Cecil ordered, laying the woman's head down upon the tile and respectfully closing her eyes before standing. "This man ... I do not know much about him, but I do know that he is ruthless. You cannot possibly hope-!"

The fury in Tellah's eyes and the tears burning there silenced him more than the Sage's furious shouts. "Silence! She was not _your_ daughter! You do not know my loss! I will do this alone or not at all!"

Then he was gone, and Cecil could not find it in his heart to pursue the grieving father and stop him in his quest. Instead, he turned to Prince Edward, whose eyes were now freely flowing with tears, his head buried in the folds of his beloved's skirt. Much to Cecil's surprise, it was Rydia who spoke, "Coward. Stand up. Grown men shouldn't cry. If I've stopped crying, so should you!"

"You're right, of course," the Prince looked up, and Cecil was stuck by the color of his eyes, as warm and golden as honey. He was reminded that he _knew_ this Prince from all those years ago, from when he was but a child; though admittedly not well. "I _am _a coward, so I will not face my life without her. I will stay here and I will die."

Rage gripped Cecil once more. If _he _were to die, he would not want Rosa to follow him. He would want her to live on, to find light and love without him. Taking only a few strides, he grabbed the man by the scruff of his tunic and hoisted him to his feet. Slapping the man in the face and pushing him backward in release, he found himself moved to the point of near shouting. "Wake up! Do you sincerely believe that she would wish you dead? You must live _for_ her!" He ran his hands through his hair, looking away from the Prince and sighing. Exerting control over his emotions, he turned his face back toward the Prince and spoke again, "In any case, I have need of your help. A friend of mine has fallen ill with Desert Fever, and you are the only one who can assist me in retrieving the Sand Pearl I need to save her."

"This person, you love her," he touched his cheek where Cecil had slapped him, and looked into the Knight's eyes unflinchingly. "I will help you. No one should have to suffer the loss of their lover." He turned around, his bard's cloak billowing. "If you follow me, there is a hovercraft in our underground hangar that we can use to cross the shoals."

Cecil took Rydia in his arms, realizing that she certainly must be overtired. Prince Edward, who was quiet as a mouse, gathered Cecil's forgotten helm and gauntlets in his arms, and they set off down the left corridor. The Prince cast one last, longing, look at his beloved before he lingered no longer.

The Prince and Cecil fell into step beside one another, and Cecil noticed after awhile that the young ruler continued to cast him sidelong glances.

"You are aware that I do not bite?" Cecil asked, more lightly than he intended, but the bard Prince smiled and replied in his tuneful voice.

"I'm sorry, but is your name, perhaps, Cecil? I knew a boy named Cecil once. He was from Baron, as your accent dictates, but I can't see him having become ..." the Prince trailed off. 'Well, you don't act very much like a Dark Knight, do you?"

Cecil ignored that last comment, as he knew opinion of Dark Knights outside of Baron was not high. It seemed as though the rest of the world thought they were monsters, though the majority of them were simply men who had been forced into their positions by circumstance. The Dark Blade captured those who had the right disposition in its throng, and it was wont to release its victims, even onto death. As a whole, Dark Knights were remarkable individuals who had the mettle of champions, but were held captive by the Darkness, oftentimes against their own wills. They all lived with the solemn knowledge that they would one day either be killed by the Darkness or dominated by it.

"I was wondering if you remembered me," he mused instead.

"Who could forget a lad with your particular features?" Edward laughed, a musical sound, though it was still haunted; as it rightly should be. "You were so kind, as I can tell you still are. What drives you to the desert, Sir Cecil? Surely, you're not chasing after this Lady of yours?"

Cecil hesitated for a moment before replying, unsure of what he should say. At last, he settled on the bare truth. "I am a fugitive," as he would be. Golbez would not allow resistance if he controlled Baron; and he must, for the King would never authorize this were he in his right mind, nor would he allow Golbez the use of his Red Wings. "I led the raid on Mysidia and burned this child's home to the ground under orders." The young ruler looked shocked, and Cecil would be lying if he said that disbelief did not flatter him. "I could no longer live with myself, so I set out to treat with other nations in order to preserve their crystals. I seek to stop my country so that she may maintain a shred of her honor."

"Then you have my help, any I can offer," The Prince said. "A man who makes a mistake should always be given a chance to correct it. It is true that I remember you, and I know you're a good person."

"Your words, milord," Cecil turned his eyes away from the monarch, "I am not sure I deserve them. I was only eight last we met."

"That may be true, Sir Cecil," replied the bronzed young man, "but you showed such respect to Anna." Cecil hadn't even been aware that the bard prince had noticed how he'd laid her body. "I have a hard time believing that someone who is so reverent of the dead could ever be evil."

They passed trough a pair of heavy wooden doors at the end of a deep staircase, delving ever deeper into the darkness.

The conversation died, leaving Cecil time to think. That Prince Edward believed reverence of the dead guaranteed his innocence proved his naivety, but Cecil did not say anything to him. Cecil had long ago stopped believing in people based off how they treated the dead. The only true judge of character was how one treated the living; something Cecil had experienced first hand five years ago.

He shifted Rydia in his arms, finding that she was sleeping despite being held against his hard breastplate. It was the deep sleep of exhaustion and he was grateful that she was able to find it, though he could not yet bring himself to sleep; not until Rosa was safe.

"Here we are," announced the Prince after awhile steeped in silence. He motioned toward a sleek, yellow blur before him, standing out against the blackness. "I'm quite certain you've never seen a hover craft before. They're fairly rare and difficult to manufacture." Edward ran his hand along the front end, and then moved toward the back, opening a storage compartment Cecil would not have noticed existed otherwise. He stowed Cecil's gauntlets and helm inside of it, turning back to the Dark Knight, "Each and every part must be enchanted by a White Magi with a specialized 'Float' spell, or it is unable to hover."

Cecil had never seen a machine like it before, of that the young ruler was correct; though Cecil had no idea what Prince Edward was explaining when he spoke of the 'Float' spell. The Dark Knight had never been particularly adept at Magic, so all talk of it was lost on him. The machine itself stood up to his waist and was two chocobos in length with deep, brown leather seats, and a rounded front.

The Dark Knight looked at the bard prince, whose brow was now creased in sorrow. He was leaning over a panel on the wall, tapping at a series of buttons. Cecil did not realize that Damcyan was in possession of this level of technology; he supposed the panel had been installed when Damcyan had purchased the hover craft and was also enchanted. A moment later, the north wall rose, letting a few streams of early morning light into the dark room. It had grown stronger since Cecil had last seen the sky, back in the throne room.

"Put the young lady in the back seat," the Prince advised. "You may sit up front with me."

Cecil lay Rydia where the Prince had directed, brushing her green hair from her face. He then easily jumped the side of the hover craft to sit next to Edward, who was playing with the dials on the wheel in front of him.

The hover craft lurched, and Cecil braced himself against the sides, cursing as he found himself floating several feet off of the ground. Though he'd flown miles above the earth, there was something different about this feeling of weightlessness that he found unsettling. The machine itself ran silently, so Cecil could still hear the bard prince's soft chuckle at his reaction as they took off into the desert heat.

It was a shockingly brief trip across the burning sands; though Cecil found himself dozing off to the feeling of warm air rushing past his face. He must be truly exhausted to be able to sleep in his armor while sailing across the blazing desert. Before he knew it, they were skimming across the watery shoals toward a distant, mountainous, landmass. Behind them gushed an enormous jet of water created by the pressure of the spell against the waves (as the Prince explained conversationally). Before long, they set down upon dry land, only a few yards from the gaping mouth of a cave.

It was not a limestone cavern, wet and cold, like the cave Cecil and Rydia had just barely left. Rather, it was a cave of warm, red earth, stuffy and musty. If the Dark Knight had to wager a guess, it was more like the den of a beast.

Prince Edward was already out of the hovercraft and moving about. He had removed Cecil's gauntlets and helm from the storage compartment, and had somehow scrounged up a torch and what looked like a satchel of supplies. Shaking himself to wakefulness, Cecil himself exited the hover craft and strapped on his equipment. Sighing, he woke Rydia, who stared up at him with sleepy eyes, "Papa?"

Cecil shook his head, "It's me, Rydia, it's Cecil. We're going to get the Sand Pearl now."

"Oh," she blushed and rubbed her eyes; Cecil couldn't help but feel a pang at her tired mistake, reminded of all he had taken from her. "Okay, Let's go."

There was a 'whoosh' as the torch set ablaze, and Cecil turned to look at Edward, who was staring at the cave mouth as if it nauseated him. Cecil walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Relax, Prince Edward. I promise you whatever monsters we meet within will not harm you."

"It's not that," Edward assured him, "it's only that I have not been into the Antlion's Den in a long time. I am not sure that I remember the way to the nest."

"Beasts usually burrow in a straight forward manor," Cecil assured. "I am sure finding the way will not be difficult."

Edward gave him a strange look as the three companions plunged into darkness every bit as stagnant as Cecil had imagined.

"Do you hunt?" the bard prince asked, his face unsure; Cecil could tell the idea made him uncomfortable.

"My friend Kain hunts," Cecil explained absently as he examined the surroundings. "I simply tag along on his expeditions in order to spend time with him. Our duties often separate us, you see."

The cave itself was made of tightly packed dirt that stood no chance of collapsing, for it was held together by a hard, transparent material that Cecil assumed had once been the burrower's saliva. It made the glow of the fire against the walls strangely bright as it was amplified by the reflective surface.

"The life of a Knight, is it difficult?" queried the Prince as they traveled down the strangely vacant corridors; perhaps the Antlion was a great predator to the smaller beasts.

Cecil noted that Rydia had taken the Prince's hand, though they had barely spoken a word to one another. "It is a different sort of life, one that requires stamina and dedication. I am afraid it isn't as romantic as the ballads make it out to be, however. There is a great deal of hard work and training that goes into the craft, and it does not pay very well. On the other hand, being a Knight means that you have been elevated to the level of a Lord, and have secured your family a place in Baron's history. The future prosperity of a Knight's family is practically ensured, as any son of a Knight is permitted to marry a high dowered Lady."

"But isn't your situation unique? You visited us with Lord Thomas Harvey and he introduced you as his Heir," Prince Edward led the way through the shadows, his arm held high.

"That was a mistake," he replied, frowning deeply at the memories that came. "The Nobles would bar any such action. Succession will be decided when His Highness passed away."

It was silent for a very long time, as they continued to weave through the shadows. They eventually reached a large chamber with a sandy, loose floor and a sloping descent into what looked like a nest. The Prince and Rydia descended, and Cecil followed.

Releasing Rydia's hand, the young ruler leaned down in the sand, "Antlion's are harmless. We should simply be able to take the Sand Pearl from her nest; it is not her egg, after all, only formed of the fluid she secretes when-!"

A great screech caused the Prince to yelp and jump backward, his torch falling onto the ground as a pair of scissors sharp pincers rose from the sand.

Cecil sprang, almost automatically, to the bard prince's defense, his blade already burning with the Dark Fire he utilized so often these days. When he struck the beast, however, it lashed out and cut through the metal of his breast plate as if it were lard. Luckily, it did not hit him, and he was able to get away with ruined armor.

Hissing, Cecil decided to try a different approach.

Dropping his hand to his side, he channeled the Dark Fire from his sword into the surface of his armor; manipulating the Darkness with all the skill of a seasoned veteran. Saturated by the Darkness itself, Cecil sent an arching wave of Dark Fire toward his target in a violet blaze.

It screeched and recoiled, but did not attack him with its pincers, seeming unable to determine where the attack had originated from.

"Magic attacks are effective," he muttered, then motioned to Rydia, who began to cast.

Looking for the Prince, Cecil found him, unhooking something from his belt clumsily. He pulled a traveler's harp from his side and began to strum, at first a bit shakily, but when he closed his eye, his song became loud and confident. The bard's lips parted in song, and his voice was so angelic Cecil nearly forgot himself. Yet there were many things in the Knight's mind that drew him back to the battle, though he resolved to ask Prince Edward for a song later.

He was surprised to see that the beast was slumbering, and attributed it to the Prince's song. Looking at it as he channeled the Darkness once more, he saw that 'Antlion' was an appropriate name for a beast with the pincers of an insect and the fur of a feline.

Lightning stuck the monster and it hissed in confused frustration, rearing back so it stood on four of its six legs. A moment later, Cecil's attack landed and it recoiled, slamming into the wall and dislodging chunks of dirt from the ceiling.

Cecil rolled and grabbed the forgotten torch, still burning, and waved it in front of the Antlion, who backed away, shouting, "Back! Get back!"

Having taken a beating, the creature burrowed back beneath the sand. A chord resounded before falling silent, and Cecil knelt in the dirt to pick up the milky, opaque orb that glowed ever so slightly in the darkness. Standing, he found himself staring into the eyes of the Prince, who was smiling sheepishly at him, "Let me take you to Kaipo."

"I was going to ask," Cecil looked at the pearl, still in his hand, and was amazed at how it stood out against the ebony of his armor; it reminded him of Rosa, pure and bright. "I will never reach her through the cave in a little over a day."

"Then we must hurry," the Prince went to his belt once more and removed the item satchel.

He took out a small vial filled with glowing powder and motioned for Cecil and Rydia to gather near. Uncorking the vial, he sprinkled it in a circle about them and dropped the vial on the ground. A moment later, Cecil's stomach lurched and his vision blurred, a tingling spreading over the surface of his skin. He found it difficult to breathe, and just when he thought he would pass out, his vision cleared and he found himself standing in front of the hovercraft.

Rydia and the Prince were both staring at him in concern, and after a moment he realized he was hunched over, wheezing.

"Sir Cecil?" the Prince asked, placing a hand on his back, but recoiling when the darkness crackled up to him. "Ah!"

Cecil un-strapped his helm and dropped it to the ground, "I ... am ... fine..." he panted, beginning to pull off his armor. Straightening his back, he turned to the bard prince, "Help me bury this armor."

"What happened? You sound as if you've recovered."

Cecil dug his hands through the dirt, but the Prince stopped him, "We'll throw it into the sea."

"Yes," Cecil nodded, stowing away the armor in the front seat and pausing to lift Rydia into the back. He turned to the Prince and at last responded, "It was the spell. I ... I had some sort of reaction to it."

"That's normal," the Prince replied, looking oddly relieved. "I learned from my tutors that certain people are particularly sensitive to Magic, even if they are not Mages themselves."

With that settled they set out for Kaipo.

The journey seemed far too long for Cecil, who sat with the sand Pearl clutched in his hands. Rosa seemed so far away, and as the day waned he grew even more anxious. True to his word, the Prince threw his armor into the sea, though Cecil was so preoccupied he barely noticed.

They spent a majority of their day on the water, eating the rations that the bard prince had in his satchel. Rydia and the Prince talked a blue streak about Magic and other things that she had been learning about in school, and Cecil gathered that the Prince was a very educated man. Cecil himself was not. All he knew was that knowledge required from him to be a Knight, and though reading and writing were included, Cecil had never taken the time to enjoy them, as Rosa had.

It seemed to the Dark Knight an eternity until they reached the Kaipo Desert, the white moon full, and the red moon but a crescent, but he was relieved when they did. Never before had he wished so dearly to have an airship, which would travel much faster across the sand. When he saw Kaipo's burning torchlight on the horizon, time seemed to slow, and he clutched the dashboard eagerly. At this point, Rydia had fallen asleep, and he and the Prince flew on in silence, so Cecil could clearly hear the thundering of his own heart.

Before the hover craft had even landed, Cecil had jumped the side and was stumbling across the sands and through the gates. It was quite awhile before Rydia and the Prince caught up with him, and they may not have if he hadn't been halted in the market place by the press of bodies (how was it that it was still so busy this late at night?).

He made it to the mansion where he was admitted by a frazzled maid who was wearing her nightcap slightly askew. He walked past her as quickly as he could without pushing her aside and proceeded into the foyer. The way to the room was not forgotten to him. Soon enough he entered and threw himself at the bedside, startling awake the old man, who had been slumbering on a chair he had set up at the foot of her bed.

Cecil was unsure of what to do with the pearl now that he was staring at Rosa who looked far worse than when he had left her. He could do nothing other than hold it lamely over her face.

When she opened her eyes to stare at him, however, he realized that simply shining its light upon her was the cure.

"Cecil," she whispered, her aquamarine eyes brimming with tears as she blinked them open. "Cecil, you're alive..."

Now that she was safe he could do nothing but nod, awash in his joy and the sudden buoyancy of relief. Instead, he placed a hand on the top of her head, which she took in both of her small hands and moved to her cheek; heat still burned there, though it was not a fatal heat.

"I told them you were alive, Cecil, I told them... I told them you couldn't possibly be dead," she choked, and Cecil pulled her into a one armed hug, placing himself on the bed beside her. "I just ... I was still so afraid that there was a chance... They were right."

"Shush, Rosa, it's all right," he brushed her thick hair from her face and smiled at her. "We're here now, and we're both fine, so stop your fretting"

Rosa's eyes lighted on Edward and Rydia, who stood awkwardly in the doorway, and she smiled beckoningly, "Who are your friends, Cecil?"

"This is Rydia of Mist," Cecil held out his hand and Rydia rushed forward and took it, smiling up at him; releasing Rosa, he pulled Rydia into his lap, "and this is Prince Edward von Muir of Damcyan."

The old man blanched, and a flustered Rosa hastily straightened up and smoothed out her clothing, only to relax when she saw the Prince's easy going smile.

"Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you," he bowed ever-so slightly at the waist. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

"Rosa," Cecil said suddenly, his face serious, "I have to go to Fabul."

"I'm coming with you," replied the White Magi, her eyes full of fervor. "I'll get my bow, we'll-" a spasm of coughs interrupted her speech, causing an anxious Cecil to grab her wrist.

"No, Rosa you're not well," his tone was insistent.

"Cecil," a hand on his back caused the Dark Knight to tense; the tone of voice was not one he had ever heard the Prince use before. It was firm, but with a note of pleading to it. "Rosa wants to be with you."

"Very well," Cecil resigned after a long moment of contemplative silence, "but we will rest first."

"You may stay here for the night, Sir, Milord," the elderly man humbly offered.

"Thank you," the Prince smiled, "let us go outside to discuss sleeping arrangements. Rydia, come along."

Rydia looked between Cecil and Rosa, grinned as if she knew something, then slipped from the bed and dashed after the bard prince and the man.

"She's darling," Rosa commented, and Cecil stood, to pull up the chair and sit at her bedside. There was a brief, hesitant, pause. "Cecil, did you really ... Did you really burn Mist to the ground? Kain said ... He said that you killed the people there, too?"

Cecil could not bring himself to look at her as he spoke; he stared at the headboard instead, "It is true. We massacred those people. It was the ring his highness gave us. It burned down the village."

"Oh, Cecil," Rosa sighed, drawing their hands together and staring at him with her big sea-foam eyes. She suddenly frowned at him, "You look terrible; when did you last sleep?"

"A full night?" he asked tentatively, and her frown grew.

"Cecil, why haven't you slept?" she scolded, "And what of your armor?"

He knew that she was not really upset about his armor, and that her displeasure was at the sword that still hung at his side, "I had to save you, Rosa, and you know all too well why I cannot forsake this blade."

"I wish you had never picked up that cursed sword," Rosa murmured.

Cecil did not say it out loud, but he did agree with her. Instead, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, breaking their contact, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she replied, "but I'm fine now, thanks to you."

He extended his hand, and she took it, smiling up at him. "I'm so relieved," he muttered, "I thought you were going to die."

"Oh, Cecil..." she sighed, placing her hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes and allowed himself the pleasure of leaning into her touch; it was an indulgence he surrendered to only because of his relief. "You have such a large heart."

The door opened and he pulled away, inclining his head to hide his burning face. Rosa, he noted, was not flustered at all. "Yes?" she asked, facing the doorway.

"Our rooms are ready. I've come to get Cecil," the Prince announced.

Cecil stood, bid farewell to Rosa politely, and stumbled down the hallway, the weight of his exhaustion finally crashing down upon him. He was only vaguely aware as he crawled into bed, and fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	8. Chapter Six: Ice and Fire

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Six: Ice and Fire

Cecil woke to light streaming through an open window and the sound of Edward's soft humming drifting from somewhere nearby. Opening his eyes fully, he sat up and stared at the bard-prince, who was sitting on the bed adjacent to him, lacing up a pair of traveler's boots.

"Did you sleep well, Cecil?" the blonde man asked, placing his hands on his knees and smiling; Cecil thought he seemed different than he had the day before, far more confident.

"What time is it?" the Dark Knight asked, rubbing the back of his head and turning his gaze to the spacious room about him. He noticed his tunic and boots strewn on the floor, but could not remember placing them there. He supposed such was the consequence of being so physically exhausted the night before.

"Midday," replied the bard. "Get up. We are in need of supplies." Edward's honey colored eyes lighted on Cecil's frayed tunic and stained white undershirt, "It seems you are also in need of new clothing. You must be presentable before we travel to Fabul or you'll never get an audience."

Cecil knew that Edward was right. He would need a change in wardrobe if he was to make the right impression, but with what money would this wardrobe be purchased? It mattered little. As was, he hadn't bathed in five days and his hair hadn't been trimmed since before he'd left Baron. Combined with the fact that his clothing was less than presentable, and he ended up looking more like a bandit than a somewhat reputable Lord of Baron. "Is there a bath somewhere?" Cecil questioned, standing up to retrieve his things from the floor. "I feel like I spent the last several nights sleeping in a pigsty."

Edward nodded. "I've already asked the maids here to draw one for you," he smiled, finishing his work with his boots. "I figured you might say as much."

"Thank you," Cecil inclined his head and asked the bard prince for directions, quickly navigating the halls of the mansion to the spacious washroom; a place far more extravagant than the simple, practical rooms he was used to.

Shutting the door behind him, Cecil stripped completely and sunk into the steaming water, immediately relishing the feeling of heat on his joints. He hadn't even begun to scrub down, and already he felt better, cleaner. Though the Knight felt particularly indulgent that morning, he did keep in mind that Edward was waiting for him, and so he did not linger to soak, though he truly wanted to, feeling rather silly for thinking so.

Cecil was not usually one to enjoy things such as baths, they were simply just procedural, but he was beginning to appreciate the simpler things in life. In Baron, he'd held a position where bathing had never been a problem, but on the road it was an entirely different story. It would be false to say that he did not miss the convenient amenities life in Baron offered; at least not when he was filthy and road-worn.

He dressed silently, though he secretly wished he had fresh clothes to change into, and buckled his own boots, sitting on a stool not far from the heavy metal wash basin. Standing, he tied his hair back with a scrap of frayed black cloth, piling the long, pale, wet strands atop his head. He longed for newer, stronger cloth, but knew even turban cloth would be too expensive for his current budget, which had a balance of nothing and now even his armor was gone.

So far was the Dark Knight within his own thoughts that he did not notice the presence of a certain White Magi when he exited the room until he had already collided with her.

"Rosa," he held out his hands to steady her. "Forgive me! It seems I wasn't-"

"It's quite all right," she assured, shaking her head and smiling fondly. "You were so involved in your thoughts that you didn't notice me."

Cecil could not find words to respond to her, but he had no need to, for Edward came down the hall at that precise moment. "I would advise purchasing multiple outfits," Edward said, excusing the both of them and leading Cecil down the halls and into the midday sun. "Oh, what am I thinking? You must be famished!" He shook his head, and again Cecil noted how much more relaxed he seemed since the night before.

They had set off toward the market place far from the Mansion District, setting a leisurely pace.

"What happened?" Cecil asked him as they crossed a bridge into the market place, where the press of bodies could be overwhelming. "You seem very ..." Cecil made a vague gesture with his hands, wondering how to convey what he was thinking.

Prince Edward smiled serenely, "Do you believe in the afterlife, Cecil?"

Cecil noted the bard prince playing with a strand of his hair, his eyes possessed of that strange, far-off look. It was very different from the tone of forced cheerfulness he had taken on yesterday. "I saw Anna last night, and she told me to be strong and move on from her." His eyes locked with Cecil's, "To be honest, I was planning on moving on from this life after I assisted you in saving Rosa, but now ..." He smiled genuinely, though the smile was marked with sadness. "You are such a good person, a brave person, and I want to learn from you. I want to help you any way I can, and I know my beloved would want me to, as well."

Cecil patted Edward's shoulder and smiled softly. Though he did not know if he believed Edward's tale of Anna's ghost, he was glad that the bard prince had found some hope. "Any assistance you can offer would be appreciated, Prince Edward." He paused, and then spoke, choosing his words very carefully. "Why did you share that with me?"

Edward's eyes widened, as though it should be obvious, "I wanted us to become friends, and I felt you deserved to know, as you're our leader."

Cecil felt his own eyes widen in response, "I -" he closed his eyes and then spoke again. "I suppose I am the leader. I haven't given it any thought."

"Do you know what you're going to say to King Lao?" Edward led the Dark Knight to a small stall, where dried and seasoned lamb hung from the tent flap; just the scent made him hungry. Yes, it would be good to eat a real meal instead of tasteless rations.

"I haven't thought about that, either," Cecil admitted, surprised when Edward handed over the Gil for the food. "You don't have to –"

"Nonsense. I may like anonymity, but I have entirely too much Gil, and cannot possibly spend it all on myself. I insist."

"At least allow me to pay you back," Cecil took the meat despite his protests; he was far too hungry to deny it, and it would be a waste otherwise. "I'll feel guilty for the imposition otherwise."

"It's not an imposition, Cecil," said Edward, as if they had been friends all their lives rather than having met only yesterday. "My family controls the money flow in Damcyan. If I so desired, I could invest in trade with any country in the world and earn back ten times the profit. The money for food, supplies, clothing … It's hardly a drop in the barrel!"

"Still, I feel as if I am spending another man's money." Cecil took a bit of the meat, finding it was every bit as flavorful as it was aromatic. After a moment, he spoke again. "It's why I never took advantage of any of his highness's generous offers." He sighed, correcting himself, "I don't want you to think I am not grateful, but I am the man who prefers to make his own way in this world, not the man who takes handouts from others."

Edward played with a strand of his hair thoughtfully, his face subdued, "Then you must consider it a gift; between friends."

Cecil closed his eyes, but nodded reluctantly, "I'll consider the clothing a gift, but you will accept payment for the food at some point."

Edward laughed softly at him, "I suppose that's fair enough."

The two men traversed farther down the crowded street, and Cecil was fascinated by how different it was from Vangrad and Necrograd. Merchants shouted out their wares and the prices, and most shops were open stall or tented, their goods out in the open, displayed proudly for the world to see. It was chaos compared to the neatly labeled indoor shops of his home country, where advertisements were announced by herald or flyer.

Edward moved in on a large, mauve tent, dragging Cecil with him by the cuff of his sleeve. His eyes had locked in on the place with hawk-like precision, and Cecil realized as soon as they stepped into the dimly lit, heavily perfumed, and distinctly stuffy interior that the prince was a bargain hunter as well as a monarch.

A woman with tanned skin and very little clothing sat in the center on the tent, lounging about on an old sofa covered in an overabundance of jewel toned fabric. When she saw them, her sage green eyes began to smolder, and she smiled knowingly, "Ah, Edward dear. It seems your scruffy looking friend needs new clothing and a shave."

Cecil ran his hand over his face and felt the scratchy stubble there, surprised at its presence. He had never had to worry about shaving very often before, but it had been quite awhile, and the thought had not crossed his mind earlier this day.

The woman snaked her way from the couch, her sheer skirts swimming about her hips as she ambled toward him, "I must know your sizes, Mister …?"

Cecil looked down at his hands, where there were little white scars on his knuckles, "I'm sorry, I do not know. And my name is Cecil, madam."

"Then you must take your tunic _and _your shirt off, Cecil. I need your sizes," she ordered, and he bashfully did so, seeing no other choice and no way of escape.

Her eyes grazed his form appreciatively, and he felt himself turn what he was sure was a very unflattering shade of red. She took his clothing as if it was a dead animal, and then she turned to Edward, "Let's talk prices and materials, Edward, darling."

Edward shook his head, "I'm sorry, Claudia, but we're in a hurry. May I see the samples?"

"You want to see _samples_, Edward?" she arched a dark eyebrow at him, placing a hand on her hip. "There are some people who should not wear _samples_, and this man is one of them. Though his tastes are undoubtedly simple, there is no excuse for purchasing him something that does not suit him ..."

They went on like that for quite some time, and Cecil, uninterested in the heckling, took to examining the interior of the tent, though there was not much to look at. Rolls of fabric were propped up against what appeared to be a wardrobe, and changing screens lined the far end of the tent. A large, frayed, and faded rug patterned in a Fabulian style lay on the dusty ground, upon which sat this Claudia's sofa. Cecil found he felt as uncomfortable here as he did in front of the noble families back home; awkward, as if he were some obscene thing to be gawked at, not a person.

The woman laughed, jolting him from his thoughts. When he turned, a look of mischief filled her eyes. "Our bard friend insists on a simple size matching from my samples, but _I_ would like to make for you a dress tunic." She moved over to him, seeming to have an idea already circulating in her mind. "A lovely sage would set off your eyes, you know," she purred the way all women did when were pleased about something. "And with a silver thread!"

"I told Claudia that we couldn't afford-" Edward began, but the woman rounded on him.

"If money is an issue, I will _give_ it to you, but I must work for this man!" She cast Cecil a gaze that made him feel as if he were a piece of meat that she wanted to eat. "It is not everyday that someone with features such as his just waltzes into my shop," Claudia took his hand. "Men are usually so tedious to design for, but this one ..."

"Well, if you insist," Edward sighed, and Cecil marveled at his sudden ability to act as if he were burdened; was this a normal part of being a Damcyite?

"The samples are back in that corner," she pointed vaguely to the northwest corner of her tent. "Take the agreed upon items and then get out! I must work!" she released Cecil's hand and shoved him his clothing, which he was more than happy to return to its proper place on his back. "Come back before supper and I will have it done."

Following Edward to the corner she had directed them to; it did not take long to find what they were looking for. They left a moment later, Edward's arms filled with three tunics, an undershirt, and a new pair of black pants, on which he had bargained the price down to practically nothing.

Cecil blinked in the intense light as Edward dragged him back toward the mansion. "We'll go to drop this off, and then I'll take Rydia to purchase the rest of the supplies. You must spend more time with this lady of yours." The bard prince's eyes suddenly took on a sad, wistful look, "She seems to be so lovely."

"I'm sure the two of you will get along quite well," Cecil assured Edward. "She's a very kind, educated, well-mannered woman. Her family is one of the oldest in Baron, after all," it amazed Cecil how boastful he sounded of Rosa.

Edward's laughter echoed across the empty Mansion District as he pulled open the doors to the blue mansion, revealing Rydia, who was scrambling around the foyer, pink faced and laughing, while Rosa chased after her. Cecil, as easily as if he'd been doing every day of his life, reached down and scooped the green haired girl into his arms. "Edward wants to ask if you'd like to go shopping with him," he said as Edward handed the clothing to a maid and whispered polite directions to her.

Rydia peered around Cecil's neck, giving Edward a critical look ,"Why can't he ask me _himself_?"

"Girls as beautiful as you make him nervous, Rydia. We must be considerate of that," said Cecil, Rydia's giggle's drowning out his voice.

"You can tell him its okay, but he has to ask me _himself_ next time!"

"Rydia says-" Cecil jokingly began, but Edward's laughter cut him off, and the Dark Knight placed the girls on the floor.

She rushed over to Edward and took his hand.

"Bye, Rosa! Bye, Cecil!" called Rydia as she waved over her shoulder; Cecil waved back.

When he turned back to Rosa, he found a look on her face that he could not fathom. Her lips were curved into a kind smile, and her eyes were shining. "Rosa, what's wrong? Why are y-?"

"Oh, Cecil," she sighed, taking his arm and leading him away; to where, he'd no idea, but he supposed it didn't matter. "You're so good with children. You'd make an excellent father."

He felt himself blushing for a reason very different than he had in the tent, and she laughed playfully at him, tweaking his nose in their childhood tradition. "I'm not so sure, Rosa."

"Don't be silly, Cecil. I have a woman's intuition when it comes to these matters; a _clear _advantage over you."

At her joking tone he relaxed and bumped their shoulders together. "A woman's intuition? You're right, I can't possibly compete."

She returned his quip with one of her heart stopping smiles, "You have to see the gardens, Cecil. They're so peaceful, and I think they'll do you good."

"Summer is fast waning," he commented as they exited into a small, lush, garden, clearly very well kept by the staff here. "Soon, the Harvest will be in full bloom back at home, and then the Harvest Festival will be held. I wonder if they'll cancel it because of these conflicts, or ..." he trailed off, noticing Rosa's disinterest. "I think I'll miss the golden fields, "he chuckled wryly. "I may even miss the snow."

"You make it sound as if you're not going back," said Rosa very softly as she led him to a lone bench sitting underneath a grove of trees; she sat, and he took his place at her feet. "Do you think you'll never see it again?"

Her fingers trailed through his long hair, hair that had once only brushed his shoulders, but now fell well past his shoulder blades. Leaning his head back and resting it against her knees, he closed his eyes and exhaled softly, "I have to stop Baron, and until I do, I'm a fugitive. I can't go home."

"But I was told you were dead," Rosa protested.

"When they came for Rydia, I spared the men. They'd have gone back to Baron by now, and Lord Baigan will know," he opened his eyes to see her chewing her bottom lip.

"They're calling it a war now, Cecil," her sea foam eyes looked striking against the blue of the sky beyond, "The Crystal War. Everyone in Baron is terrified of what this means, and it's only been a little over two weeks since the raid on Mysidia."

"It seems so much longer to me," he muttered. "Perhaps it is because so much has happened," above them, the branches of trees normally not found in this climate criss-crossed, casting a patchwork of dappled shadows all about them. "Still, I cannot believe they have begun to call it a war."

"What are we going to do?" her hands hovered for a moment at the knot he'd made in the cloth that tied back his hair, before loosing it and allowing his hair to fall freely about his face.

"The only thing left to us; treat with Fabul and Troia and hope to amass a force large enough to defeat the Baroni military." Saying it aloud made it sound absolutely ludicrous. Defeat Baron? With what strength? What could unarmed monks and armed women hope to do against the Red Wings and the Dragon Knights?

"_Surely_ there has to be something more we can do. We can't be that powerless, can we, Cecil?" She trailed off. "Let's not speak any more of politics. I just want to forget all of this for a few hours."

"Have you seen the cit yet, Rosa?" he asked as her fingers trailed soothingly across his scalp.

"Why, Sir Harvey, are you suggesting a tryst?" She leaned down over him, smirking. "I'm not sure I can condone such behavior. It's entirely improper. Think of my suitors!" She feigned offense.

"But, milady," he stood, offering her his hand and a low, sweeping bow, "how can you possibly deny a man as charming and handsome as I?"

Her laugh was like water to a parched man, "well, I'm afraid I can find no fault in that logic."

And she took his hand.

* * *

"You will retrieve for me the Crystal of Wind," said Golbez, his voice barely audible, though the tall man beside him seemed to have heard, for he nodded stiffly.

"You are dismissed," he waved his hand resignedly, and the man disappeared into the dark corridors, going to do what only Gaelach could possibly comprehend.

Golbez turned to the moons, unsurprised when a soft, deep, voice made itself known. "You seem pensive, my old friend."

The Dark Lord turned around, a smirk revealing the youth of that face, a handsome man in his late twenties. "Rubicante, you know you are several times my elder."

"Ah, but I have known you since you were a twelve year old whelp, and you have continually proven yourself a valuable companion," the dusky man replied, his thick arms crossed over his massive chest, his glowing yellow eyes filled with a certain fondness toward the Dark Lord. "We've made head way in Eblan."

"So it will soon fall," Golbez sat on the edge of the bed, and then swung his legs over the edge and lay down, crossing his arms beneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

"As sure as the twin moons set and rise again," Rubicante told his young friend. He hesitated, then spoke once again, "You seem distracted, Golbez. What troubles your mind?"

"To be frank? Cecil Harvey." He peered upward through his half closed eyes. "He attempts to stand against me. I realize he has no real chance of being victorious, and yet … There is something about him that unsettles me."

"He seems immune to your persuasion."

"No. That is not it," Golbez turned his violet gaze on Rubicante. "It is that no one forewarned me of him. They all assumed he would not pose a threat; that he would not dare to go against his king, that his loyalty was unshakeable. Yet he stands at every corner, and though he fails, there he stands. I cannot help but wonder what would happen if he were to acquire the kind of power that could defeat me…" He shook his head and chuckled dryly. "No, that is not likely, but I would honestly not be surprised if he were there to defend Fabul when I arrive. In fact, I am hoping he is there, for I have a little plan in store for him."

"I see that glint in your eyes, Golbez. You are enjoying yourself," Rubicante's voice was slightly accusing, but amused.

"Yes. I will admit that I have long yearned for a worthy adversary," Golbez shot up out of bed, his eyes glowing with magic in the darkness. "I hope he responds in full to my ploy."

"You're playing with this Cecil," Rubicante chuckled. "Be careful not to become too drawn up in this rivalry."

"I can practice restraint," Golbez snorted. "I have realized that this threat must be neutralized." He looked down at his hands and smiled in a way that was almost sad. "Yet he is young, and I am young also. Perhaps I just want to act my age and compete for once." He looked back up at Rubicante, the expression wiped from his face, the usual mask of careful cruelty. "It will be a shame to snuff out his life, but to know we've finally won brings me great satisfaction."

"What should I tell Lugae to do with the POWs?" Rubicante asked, returning the subject to business.

Golbez chuckled coolly, "tell him to transform them into an advantage."

* * *

Cecil could feel Rosa's eyes on him as he turned about in the new, sage green, velvet tunic and crisp with undershirt, showing it off only because she had asked him. It was a comfortable fit, and even Cecil had to admit that it was pleasing to the eye.

Edward beamed at Claudia's handiwork and was going on to the woman about price – despite her earlier offer of giving it to them.

Rydia sat on Rosa's lap, eating the sweets Edward had indulged her with on their shopping trip. She was grinning at Cecil, "Want some?"

Cecil shook his head, "No thank you, Rydia."

Cecil was suddenly aware of Claudia's voice, and glanced over to see Edward paying her. Picking up his old clothing, Cecil moved to the changing screens, feeling further self-consciousness with Rosa there. When he returned, he indulged Rydia a little bit on his own when she held her arms out and he picked her up, smiling warmly at her.

"I like you a lot Cecil," she whispered in his ears. "At first I hated you, but I really don't think you meant to hurt Mommy, and you have Rosa, and I like Rosa," she suddenly pulled away, looking a bit sad. "And you're different, like me."

Cecil remembered the rockslide at Mist, and wondered, not for the first time, what she had done to cause such a calamity. He also recalled her powerful magics, and supposed that she may be sensing whatever Tellah had when they had first encountered the old man. His features, however, set him apart, and she wasn't exactly usual in that area herself.

He ran a hand through her thick, green hair, "Yes, we are different, aren't we?"

"Are you ready to depart?" Edward asked, a large pack that looked too heavy for a man of such slight frame to carry slung over his shoulders.

"Of course," answered Rosa, the bow and quiver of arrows she'd purchased with the money she'd brought from Baron in her arms, making Cecil wonder whether he was the only one without accessible funds.

Cecil nodded, "We need to hurry. Baron may strike at any moment."

"Then there is no time to waste," Edward left the tent, and Cecil and Rosa followed, the girl still in the Dark Knight's arms.

It did not take them long to reach the hovercraft; parked just within the shade of Kaipo's walls.

Cecil was made uncomfortable by the weightless sensation once again as he took his seat next to Edward. "We're headed to the Tao-Shin Mountain Range," announced Edward over the whir of the engines and the rush of the wind. "Mount Hobbs is the most direct route to Fabul, so the trail is well worn. We should reach it in a few hours, if I drive as fast as I did yesterday."

"We'll have to walk to Ha-Chi?" asked Cecil.

"Yes, but the journey isn't long – not when the weather is fair."

And with that, the conversation ended, and their journey continued.

Cecil was content to listen to Edward, Rosa and Rydia chatter as he thought of the next few days of fair weather travel. Baron was being idle, and Cecil had already tarried too long in Kaipo, wasting far too many days at large, yet Baron had made no move, for if they had, they would not be able to escape the news. That alone told Cecil they were secure in their victory that they felt they could waste what the Dark Knight knew to be ever precious time. Perhaps their negligence could work to his advantage.

Cecil fingered the hilt of his sword, staring at the distant mountains that grew ever larger on the horizon, and wondered if he would ever see his beloved Baron again. More importantly, he wondered if Baron would ever recover from this disgrace. Perhaps, if King Thomas could return to his old frame of mind …

It was in this mindset that Cecil exited the hovercraft, half dazed as Edward shoved him a leather armor. "You cannot go into battle unarmored. I know it's not much, but it's better than nothing."

It was rudimentary armor and did not provide protection against anything other than the must blunt of weapons, but it was better than nothing, and _certainly_ sufficient for an excursion into Fabul. In monk country men did not arm themselves, and so Cecil would not have to fret about piercing or slashing blows. However, just because a man could not cut or stab you did not mean he was unable to kill you, as Cecil well knew from his days as a novice.

Strapping on the breast plate, wrist guard, greaves, and hip guards, Cecil readjusted his scabbard and placed his hand comfortably on his hilt.

When he turned around, Rosa was already waiting for him, her quiver slung over her shoulder, her bow in hand. She was standing by Rydia, who was clutching a short staff in her right hand, looking very unsure; Cecil resolved to teach her how to use it. Edward, who held their supplies (including whatever extras he'd purchased at market) in the pack he had upon his back, was holding his harp. Having seen its abilities first hand, Cecil didn't doubt it would be effective against the foes they may encounter upon the mountain, though it did look rather feeble.

"There is a camp ground we can utilize a little ways up the slope," said Edward. "We should reach it before nightfall."

"You've traveled frequently, Prince Edward?" Rosa inquired as they began their ascent up Mount Hobbs.

"I used to, when I was a bard," he laughed. "I never went farther than Tei or Kaipo, because of my health, and because Anna…" he trailed off, his face filled with a sudden mourning. "Anna would worry about me."

Rosa's face filled with deep compassion, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Edward smiled, albeit a bit sadly, at her.

When Rosa asked Edward about his job as a bard, Cecil moved forward, walking close to them and relying heavily on his senses to alert him of any danger. That is why, following along with the others, he did not notice the wall of gleaming ice in front of him until Edward grabbed him by the back of his shirt. Someone was clearly trying to block off the passage between the countries, surmised the Dark Knight. First the beast in the sunken highway, and now this monstrosity.

"Well, I'm certainly grateful we have a Magi with us," said Rosa, kneeling by Rydia's side. "Will you cast a fire spell upon it?"

Cecil saw the shadows of fear reflected in her eyes, and could almost see the pillar of fire himself; could almost hear the screams and smell the smoke. "I ... I can't."

"But fire is the most basic of all spells," Rosa sighed, brushing her hand through Rydia's hair. "Surely-"

"No! I can't!" Rydia protested more vehemently. "The fire ... My village ... Mommy and Daddy..."

"Rydia," Rosa crooned, "you're the only one who can help us. If you don't cast fire, the people in Fabul will be hurt by The Red Wings. I know it's painful, Rydia, but just _try_, you may just be surprised."

Belief and trust in the older woman showed in Rydia's green eyes, and the girl took a deep breath. Spreading her hands in front of her, clutching her staff, she closed her eyes and turned to face the imposing wall of ice. Her skirt began to flap in a sudden breeze and her verdant hair began to course with movement. Her eyes snapped open, and fire leapt from the space between her arms to lick at the impassable wall with tongues of flame. Before long, it had evaporated into nothing more than a current of steam rising into the sunset sky.

"I did it!"

Rydia cast her arms around Rosa's neck, and the woman laughed, returning the girl's hug with all the warmth of a mother. "You were excellent, Rydia."

Together, they headed up the mountain slope, arriving at the campground in only an hour or so. It was evident that the area was well traveled, the ground worn and trampled; a well used fire pit dug, and a pile of fine wood stacked high nearby.

"Does Fabul maintain the path?" Cecil said as he and Edward removed the canvas for the tents from the pack.

"To my knowledge," replied the bard prince, moving over to the fire pit and throwing in a few logs. "I would guess that duty would fall to the monks who guard the Fortress City of Ha-Chi."

"I've never been to Fabul," Cecil said, staking the tent posts into the ground and beginning the careful process of setting up the tents.

Rosa and Rydia went through the pack of collected the rations, "Neither have I. In fact, I've never been farther from home than Dracograd before." Rosa looked at Cecil from underneath her eyelashes. "Do you need help?"

Cecil shook his head, "I've been many places; Troia, Mysidia, the Adamant Isles, but never Fabul or Eblan. They have strict regulations over their airspace, so Baron has never flown there."

"What's flying like?" asked Edward, staring up from his place by the fire pit.

Rydia, with a flick of her wrist, sent fire there, and the blonde man jumped, his eyes widening in shock.

Cecil, who was now arranging the canvas and rope to form the two tents, turned his gaze to Edward. "It's unlike anything else in the world. Being above the earth, with everything so far beneath you, the wind in your hair, knowing nothing can harm you. It's a feeling of absolute release." He granted as he wrapped the rope around the stake and pulled it tight, "A feeling of absolute freedom."

"It sounds like your music to me," Edward sat on the ground and strummed on his harp. "Music is my passion."

"Oh, he's not just passionate about _flying in_ airships," said Rosa, cutting the twine on the ration packages with the knife she kept in her belt. "You should see him _pilot_ one. Not even _Cid_ can out fly Cecil, and he invented airships."

"That's not true, Rosa," protested Cecil, beginning his work on the next tent. "Cid hasn't been allowed to enter the flight competition for years because he accidentally caused my crash in the third. He pushed me ahead, so there's no way I would have won otherwise, and he was victorious in the second."

Edward laughed, "He's being too humble, isn't he, Rosa?"

"That's Cecil," Rosa chuckled, handing Rydia her share of the rations.

"Will you take me flying one day?" Rydia asked as Cecil finished his work, drifting over to his side.

"If you'd like," Cecil told her, sitting down by the fire and allowing Rydia to come and sit in his lap.

"I'd like to, as well," Edward volunteered, his strumming growing louder until it coalesced into a song.

Rosa took a seat at Cecil's side, handing him his rations and leaning her head against his shoulder as Edward's song rose about them. It was sweet and sad; the sort of song that moved you, and when Edward began to sing it seemed as if even the fire stopped crackling.

"_Memories drift across my mind,_

_Taking me back to that place,_

_Summer days long past, but still held dear._

_Sweet as honey, _

_The dreams of those days,_

_Lead my soul back to that place._

_I find your embrace,_

_Home in your arms,_

_I've found your love..."_

It drifted about them, as silver melody, alive with Edward's pure, simple, emotion. It was easy to drift off, and Cecil soon found Rydia was asleep and Rosa was snoozing on his shoulder.

Waking Rosa, he pulled Rydia into his arms and led them to their tent. Rosa quickly grabbed the blankets from beside the pack and laid one out on the ground. Gently as he could, Cecil lay the sleeping Rydia down on the thick blanket, surprised when he looked up and realized Rosa's face was millimeters from his own. She placed her hand on his cheek and ever so gently pressed their lips together.

(A/n: And here we prove once and for all that Cecil _is_ a good man.)

His heart stopped, but he didn't pull away, even though he was unsure of what to do. His head told him he was dangerous and that he should not risk disgracing her, but the rest of him was screaming at him to deepen the kiss, and perhaps to go even farther.

At last, Rosa pulled away, looking disappointed. "Good night, Cecil," she said, making it clear he was no longer wanted.

Cursing his own foolishness, he exited, grabbed the other two blankets, placed them in the tent, and returned to the fireside. "I'll take the watch," Cecil volunteered.

Edward shook his head, "Get some sleep, Cecil. I'll wake you when I tire."

Sighing, the Dark Knight did was he was told.

The rest of the night passed without event, and the morning rose cool.

Cecil was already awake when the others emerged into the light of early morning. Knowing Rosa would be cross with him, and having mulled over it during his watch, made his mood sour, and he handed out rations with an uncharacteristic stiffness. Unlike the day before, conversation was forced, and they traveled up the rest of the mountain in a shroud of tension that affected even Rydia and Edward.

All anger and resentment passed, however, when Cecil heard signs of struggle coming from the peak. Loosing his sword, he took off up the incline, pausing behind an outcrop to gaze upon a truly terrifying scene.

The burnt bodies of an entire unit of men littered the ground, strewn about the ground like leaves in autumn. Among the corpses maneuvered a lone man, his skin gleaming bronze with sweat, his chest bare and head bald. Though Cecil had never seen a monk before, he knew without a doubt that this man claimed that title. Only a monk could defend himself against the onslaught of fire monsters that descended upon him with naught but his body.

Unsheathing his sword, the dark Knight leapt into the fray, moving with his own sort of grace to aide the man.

Before long, he and the monk were back to back, fending off the endless horde of enemies, elegant kicks and brutal slices sending blood curdling wails down the craggy slopes. Eventually, the last of the beasts fell, and Cecil lowered his weapon, turning to face the man, who bowed low at the waist. He was about to open his mouth, but a noise like two stones grinding against one another and Rosa's scream of warning caused them both to spin around.

Floating above the ground was a creature that seemed to have crawled from the depths of the Underworld. It had a bulbous body forged of roiling fire, and eyes that glowed white hot from its squat, smashed, ugly face. Fangs protruding from its mouth dripped saliva that caused the ground to hiss where it fell. The heat that emanated from the beast was enough to make Cecil sweat profusely, even from where he stood several yards away.

Before Cecil could react, it was descending upon them.

Moving out of the way as quickly as he could, Cecil did not realize what the beast had planned until he had rolled to his feet and raised his blade. Unfortunately, it was too late to do much more than watch as the creature swelled to three times its size and then collapsed in upon itself.

The resulting shockwave sent Cecil flying through the air, the heat singeing his clothing and hair, and stinging his eyes. When he hit a rocky crop nearby, he heard a snap as his left arm broke, bent completely out of shape, and felt shrapnel slice across his abdomen where there was no leather armor to protect him.

He only became aware of the pain when he slid to the ground, crippled by the sudden burst of searing pain that shot up his arm and through the rest of his body from his stomach.

Knowing unconsciousness would be best for him, he allowed himself to slip into blackness, Rosa's sobs accompanying him into the silent darkness.


	9. Seven: The Heart Steeped in Darkness

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Seven: The Heart Steeped in Darkness

"-A very brave man," drifted a voice that Cecil did not recognize through the fog of his mind.

"I'm just glad he's alive," he heard Rosa breathe, her voice wavering with apprehension. "When I saw him hit the rock wall, I thought…"

He stirred, but movement was extremely uncomfortable, and he was reminded of the monster. Though the pain in his arm was gone and his stomach only throbbed, he felt like he was on fire all over. Gasping, he opened his eyes to see his companions surrounding him, joined by the monk from before.

"Cecil!" Rosa, who was kneeling at his side, cast her arms about his neck; he flinched as she came in contact with his tender skin, but wrapped his arms about her shoulders nonetheless.

"You are an honorable man, Cecil Harvey," said the monk, and Cecil shifted his attention from Rosa to find himself staring into a pair of kind, dark brown eyes. "I am Yang Fang Leiden; Master of what was once the elite of Fabul." His face fell, and his eyes filled with a deep sorrow. "Unfortunately, they fell on this mountain today." He returned his gaze to the Dark Knight, "If it hadn't been for you, I may have joined them. I am in your debt."

Cecil, swallowing his pain, began to stand, Rosa assisting him. "We couldn't rid you of all the wounds, Cecil," she told him. "Rydia healed the lacerations, and I mended your arm, but we could only soothe the burns, so..."

"I have a very bad sun burn," concluded the Knight. He turned his full attention toward Yang. "Think nothing of it, Master Leiden. I'm certain you would have done much the same were our situations reversed."

"Indeed, but I am certain _you _would be asserting the same debt as myself if that were indeed the case," Yang smiled softly, but then frowned sharply, though it was difficult to see through his bushy blonde mustache. "Forgive me, but I noticed your Dark Blade. I know it is rude, but are you perhaps the Dark Knight who led the attack on Mysidia?"

Cecil bowed his head in shame, "You needn't fear for your Crystal. I no longer serve Baron. In fact," he looked at Rydia, and then at Edward, "I've come to Fabul to prevent another tragedy like the one I caused in Mysidia."

Yang placed a large, worn hand on his shoulder, and Cecil could see wisdom in the depths of his eyes and the lines of his face, "you needn't worry. The Goddess of The Four Winds preaches to us forgiveness, and her husband, Green Earth, instructs us in the ways of brotherhood. I believe you when you say you mean no harm. In fact, I will take you to Ha-chi myself and get you an audience with the king."

"Master Leiden-"

"Please, Sir Cecil, call me Yang," said the monk. "Come this way. Our chocobo are on the other side of the peak, and the day is yet young. If we ride at a brisk pace we may make it to Ha-Chi by sun fall, and then you may rest while I arrange your audience."

"You trust me?" Cecil asked as he followed the Master Monk toward a well-hidden path which appeared to lead down the mountainside.

"Any man who would risk his life for another is worthy of trust," said Yang simply. "I can see in your eyes the remorse over your sins, and that is enough for me to believe your intentions are pure."

Cecil felt a tugging on his sleeve, and looked down to see Rydia, "Cecil, can I ride on your shoulders?"

Though his skin felt raw, he agreed, hoisting the girl up in one simple motion. He felt Rosa grab his arm as they continued down the path, which grew progressively easier to travel as they neared Yang's promised horses. Even Edward fell into step beside him as the path broadened.

"There are supplies for you in Fabul, sir Cecil," said the bald man as they neared the base of the mountain, rocky slopes and sparse shrubbery giving way to grass and odd plant life. Several chocobos came into view as the land leveled out, and Cecil could only suppose they were geldings, which were less aggressive and more temperate than stallions. "We are able to outfit Dark Knights."

Cecil was about to answer Yang, but two young monks, their bronze heads bald and gleaming in the early dawn light, approached them. They had likely been awaiting Master Yang and his elite, but when he arrived and their companions did not, they bowed their heads in a moment of mourning. "Our brothers now rest upon the mountain slope. We will ride to Ha-Chi, where you will gather a small group and return here on the morrow to bury their bodies. I will inform their families."

"Master," they bowed even more deeply before turning their attention to Cecil and his entourage.

"Ah, a Sir Dark Knight," said one, his dark green eyes widening, his adolescent face, still round with youth, full of surprise. He bowed, his words coming out in a rush. "We are always taught to revere men like you for your control over your Chi." He straightened, smiling pleasantly. "I am Li Ling, and my stalwart companion is my twin brother, Tai Ling. it is an honor to meet you."

"Thank you," responded the Dark Knight, unsure what he was supposed to say. "I am pleased to meet your acquaintance."

"Li, you're embarrassing Sir Cecil," Yang chided his pupil fondly.

"I am still so surprised that you are able to outfit me," admitted Cecil, "and then to be treated with such respect ... Even in Baron, we are feared, but here it is different."

Yang chuckled, "Once, a Dark Knight came from afar. He relinquished his blade and turned to The Goddess. He taught the monks to temper their bodies and harness their Chi, and has long since passed on to the next life. He lives forever as one of our High Sages, and ever since we treat Dark Knights who pass into our border with deference. They are men of sobriety and honor, before The Dark One takes them."

"The lady and girl should take Thunder," suggested the solemn looking Tai as his master finished speaking. He was holding the reigns of a small, lanky chocobo. "He is calm and gentle, yet he moves like a river, if needed."

"Let me assist you, Rydia," Cecil said, placing her in the front of the saddle. "Hold here until Rosa mounts."

She obeyed, though she looked a bit frightened of the large animal.

Cecil turned to see Edward mounting a particularly scruffy chocobo. Tai appeared to be explaining that the chocobo, Shadow, responded well to a gentle-spirited individual with a kind voice. Yang was already astride a large, burly chocobo. There were several other chocobos remaining, one of which Li was mounting.

A nudge on Cecil's shoulder caused him to spin his head about, almost into a large, orange beak. "That," said Tai, whose presence surprised Cecil less than that of the chocobo "is Light. He's a picky boy, but he seems to like you well enough."

Light nudged Cecil more insistently; chirping, and Cecil patted the side of his head. "It seems you're giving me no choice, Light."

The chocobo pawed at the ground, and Cecil moved to his side pulling himself up into the saddle; Light peeped happily, and Cecil stroked his ruff and scratched at his head.

They set out across the wilds of Fabul at a healthy pace, Yang in the lead, Li flanking him. Cecil, Rosa, and Edward fell into a step beside one another, the other chocobos serving as pack animals, the saddled Tai leading them.

"It's a beautiful day," said Rosa, glancing at Cecil from the corner of her eye.

"And still very early," commented Cecil. "We have a long way to go before nightfall, but the weather is, at least, fair."

Rosa blinked at him, and he returned her gaze; what had happened yesterday had been forgotten, but she was not willing to let it go. "I'm sorry."

"It's not you, Rosa," he replied. "I'm sorry. I'm not the man I should be. I know I'm not the man I should be."

"But I pushed you too far," she told him. "I know you, and I ignored that."

Cecil was about to argue, but a look from Edward silenced him, and he nodded nearly indiscernibly. Rosa, apparently, hadn't noticed Edward.

"I'll try to be mindful of your feelings, Cecil," she moved ahead, calling back over her shoulder, "I'll wait for you as long as you need!"

Edward, still beside Cecil, began to chuckle, and Cecil cast him a withering look.

"Please don't misunderstand, my friend," Edward said. "I am simply remembering my own amorous experiences. It's difficult to remember you're only twenty, at times, Cecil, and when it comes to the game of love, four years makes all the difference."

"I often wonder what the one who created women was thinking when he created them," Cecil sighed, "but then I think of how Rosa makes me feel, and what I would do for her."

"Yes," Edward smiled softly. "There is no greater power in this world than the power a woman holds over a man. I remember when Anna and I first met," he gave Cecil a knowing smile. "I was performing for a crowd in Kaipo when Claudia walked past, and following her was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen." He shook his head, "And when I met her eyes, I knew I wanted to meet her. There are few who contain the world in their eyes, but Anna was one of them. One look and I knew she was a person I could come to love." He took a deep, shuddering, breath. "I wonder if it will ever become easier to speak of it?" his hands clutched the reigns tightly. "There are so many 'what-ifs,' that I can't help but wonder..."

"If you think about it that way, it will never become easier to speak of her," Cecil told him. "'What-ifs' leave you empty, Edward. I am speaking from experience."

"When did you realize you had feelings for Rosa?" Edward asked, and Cecil looked forward to see Rosa, laughing at something Li had said.

"When I returned from Necrograd after training with the Dark Blade, everything was different." Cecil began. "No, I was different. Before I had departed, I had been a boy, but the events that took me to Necrograd had changed me, and over the course of the last two years, I had become a man. It was very naive of me to assume everything would be the same between my friends and me, and I did not foresee that the obvious changes in Rosa, accompanied with the changes in myself, would produce an attraction." He laughed, "It was as if I was meeting her again for the first time. She was not the first woman I had ever shown interest in, but she was one of the first to reciprocate my interest. In fact, I grew to understand she had cared for me for a very long time..." he trailed off. "To answer your question, I think I first realized it when she threw her arms around me at our reunion. I had left behind this tomboy who would venture out into the woods with Kain and I, a girl who was all legs and elbows, but that wasn't the woman who was hugging me now. She was someone I had hurt very much by never responding to her letters, a woman who was so much smaller and physically weaker than I was. I felt ... responsible for her, protective, and besides," he smirked at Edward, "I had never seen a woman so beautiful in all my life."

"She is, indeed, a rare beauty," came Edward's jest. "A shame I don't favor blondes, or you may have some competition." His face grew serious. "I understand what Rosa is feeling, Cecil. I waited for Anna, as well." he hesitated, "May I ask why you're waiting? What is causing you to vacillate when you so clearly care for her?"

Cecil turned his eyes to the back of Light's head, "What Yang said of The Darkness is true. My foremost thought is always of this Blade, like a sickness in the back of my mind. It pollutes me, slowly dragging me under, and I am more susceptible to its pull than most. A part of me..." he laughed bitterly. "Very few know, but there is a part of me that enjoys what I did in Mysidia, that would do it again, if I let it." He turned his eyes to Rosa again, her purity making him feel ever more a wretch. "I fear loosing control. I don't want to hurt her, but I do not trust myself enough not to. Not after Mysidia. Not ever."

"But you are here!" Edward protested. "You pulled me from within myself, you saved Rydia, and you mean to go to the ends of the earth to stop Baron! Surely there must be some way out, some way to escape the Darkness within you. His eyes fell to the back of Shadow's head, and Cecil watched as his shoulders sagged. "You are a good friend and a great man." His honey eyes met Cecil's, "It does not seem fair that a man like you should fall to this Darkness."

Cecil was moved, and smiled at the man, who now held his undivided loyalty. "There is no way to escape once you've been taken, but thank you."

Edward, who had a shocked look on his face, returned Cecil's smile as best he could. "Someday, when you are a hero, Cecil, I hope you think of me, the ruler of the Damcyan Principality, and consider me a friend."

"It would be my honor to claim you as such, your highness," Cecil quipped, urging Light to speed up so he could catch up to Rosa.

Edward, of course, was not far behind, laughing, the mood much less oppressive. "Then I will claim you as my friend, _Sir _Harvey."

The mood from then on was considerably less dark, and the company rode on in companionable chatter, their spirits high; though the danger Fabul faced lingered over them like a looming shadow. Cecil was able to relax and truly be himself for what felt like the first time in years, even to the point that he and the monk Li got in a small race (prompted by Rydia) in which he was victorious.

Around noon, when the sun was high in the sky, they rested their mounts, which had begun to smell even worse than they usually did.

The area in which they rested was certainly scenic, and foreign, to Cecil, who had never seen forests made of the dense, segmented, thin trunked trees that seemed so common here. He had stopped to wash his face in a nearby stream and get a closer look at the plant life when the smooth voice of Yang startled him into drawing his Blade.

His Blade tip at Yang's neck, he found himself staring into those calm, dark brown eyes. "Forgive me, Yang. You alarmed me. It will not happen again."

"No, I was careless," Cecil lowered his blade, and the monk bowed his head. "Forgive my intrusion, Sir Harvey."

"Cecil," the Dark Knight said, sheathing the Dark Blade.

"Excuse me?" Yang furrowed his brow.

"My name is Cecil. You are my elder, so, please call me such," Cecil crossed his arms over his chest. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes," Yang nodded. "I was curious, you see, about your appearance."

Cecil frowned, "If you are going to ask about my parents, I have no idea who they were. I am an orphan, and never knew them."

"No. I was going to ask you if you know the Fabulian Legend of The Crystals," Yang stated, sitting down upon the ground, his legs crossed over one another; for the first time, Cecil noticed that he was holding boxes in his hands, likely filled with food. "I am assuming you do not, from your reaction. Please, sit, let us eat together, and allow me to tell you the tale."

Cecil was embarrassed by his reaction, and sat, "Forgive me. I treated you rudely, and I had no cause."

To his surprise, Yang chuckled, "Do not fret over it." He pushed to the young Dark Knight one of the boxes. "You are an orphan, and one who is most unusual, at that. I do not blame you in the slightest for your reaction."

Cecil opened the box and graciously sized up the rice and dried meat inside. "You wanted to tell me a story?"

"Ah, yes," Yang smiled from behind his mustache and stroked his chin. "Long ago, a Sage with peculiar features came to Fabul, bearing The Crystal of Wind. He was young and bizarre in appearance, and so the Elder Monks paid him no mind, assuming he was just another lost foreigner, wandering from place to place. The man, however, demanded audience with the king. At first, the monks laughed at him, and told him to go away, back to his pale-haired people. No one wanted the foreigner and his strange, green crystal about, so they expelled him from the fortress.

Having no where else to go, this Sage stayed in the village and searched for a way to see the king. While he was staying there, the village was attacked by The Demon of Earth, whose flesh rotted from his bones, and whose stench was so foul it would linger in the air for weeks after he was gone. He attempted to ravage the village, as he had in the past, but the foreign Sage stood in the way," Yang smiled mysteriously.

"The Sage did what no one else could; he drove away the Demon of Earth with his magnificent power and the crystal. It was then the Elder Monks realized that they had a true master on their hands, and granted him his audience. They offered him many gifts, all of which he refused; instead, he humbly offered up The Crystal of Wind, promising it would be a boon of protection for the people. As soon as he had come, he was gone, and The Demon of Earth never returned.

After he had gone, the men decided The Sage must have been a Child of The Goddess, and granted him the title "Demonslayer."'

Cecil, who had been eating quietly, wondered about the point the monk was trying to make. As if reading his mind, Yang continued, "Some years ago, when I was a young man around your age, I went on a training pilgrimage to different Fabulian cities. When I was in Tei, I met a Dark Knight with hair of gold who told me tales of your God of Justice. He shared the features of Demonslayer, and I came to a peculiar conclusion; this man, whoever he was, was indeed the same person as The Justice God, and he wanted to ensure the people's safety."

"But what has any of this to do with me?" Cecil asked, genuinely confused.

Yang placed one, large hand on his shoulder, "You may share this man's blood, or you may not, I do not know, but I know one thing for certain." His face held the expression of a man sure of his convictions. "From the moment I saw you I could tell; something brought you to me on that mountain, something that knew I would be the one to help you reach your noble goal. That same something is leading you somewhere, Cecil." Yang stood and turned away, looking toward the sky. "You are meant for great things, young man, of this I am sure. Your appearance alone speaks of it."

With that he departed, leaving Cecil burdened with the ponderous weight of his words.

* * *

The company passed through the wooden village outside of Ha-Chi Palace as the sun dyed the western horizon as crimson as the Red Wing's airships. They had stopped only twice that day, and it seemed incomprehensible to Cecil that they had made such excellent time. Of course, they rode in the presence of native born Fabulians, who would know all of the short cuts.

In the distance loomed Ha-Chi Palace, set ablaze in the twilight; Cecil prayed it was not prophetic.

The Palace itself was very different from Vangrad's large, spired fortress. It was shaped more like a large, tiered triangle, its several roofs tiled in dark, slick sheets. It did _look _very formidable, but its golden gargoyles were more ornate than Vangrad Fortresses' simple effigies. It was far more lavish than _anything_ in Baron, but Cecil could detect from here certain problems with the building's structure, and knew that it could certainly be infiltrated, though not outright destroyed.

The village itself was small and wooden, filled with people clothed in simple peasant's garb. He wondered at the disparities between rich and poor, for a gap so large did not exist in Baron, the wealthiest country in the world, though Baron did have its share of poor. As they passed, many bowed to them, gawking at them with dirty faces, and whispering about the exotic strangers apparently familiar Yang had brought with him, along with the absence of the monks. Cecil, once again, found himself wanting to crawl inside his skin; it was attention he could do without. Still, the village was beautiful, in a backwards sort of way.

"Cecil?"

Cecil turned to face Edward, who looked concerned. "Yes?"

"Do you think I am a coward for leaving my country in her hour of need?"

"No, Edward," Cecil shook his head. "You are running into danger, and you've been caught up in my plight. That you are here-"

"I wanted to help you, Cecil," Edward shook his head, and then sighed. "Why does it feel as if yesterday morning is an eternity ago?"

Cecil was relieved to hear hooves clanking against the pavement as they neared Ha-Chi Palace. "I share your sentiment, Edward."

"I pray we spare Ha-Chi Saffrom's fate," Edward said as they came to the gate, only to be halted by a guard; at Yang's signal, they dismounted. "These people, they don't deserve that."

A servant took their supplies from the pack chocobo before Cecil could, shooing him away to go stand uselessly by Edward's side.

The Ling brothers said their goodbyes, setting off to carry out Master Yang's unhappy orders; they would be back the next day, Cecil assumed. "No people deserve that fate, Edward; not even the scum of the Earth."

"I must leave you here," Yang said at the gate, where two young monks waited. "A servant will take you to your rooms. Please wait for me tomorrow morning; I will get you an audience with the king."

"Thank you, Yang," said Rosa as Cecil neared her. "You've been so kind."

"I only do as any man would, Miss Rosa. Sleep well," he bowed. "Good night, Lord Edward, little miss, Cecil."

Then he was gone, out into the village to perform a task Cecil himself had been faced with far too many times. It was among the most difficult to perform, and Cecil did not envy him it. To be the messenger of death, the harbinger of grief...

The monks opened the gates to reveal an open courtyard of an opulence that castle Baron did not share, and likely never would. It was neat and green, obviously very well cared for, and served as a playground for several children, who darted in and out of the shrubbery. Monks, servants and lords, male and female alike, all strode across cobblestone pathways toward their destinations. They were outfitted in loose, colorful robe-like clothing that seemed as common as the small, dense trees ("bamboo", Tai had told Cecil).

A fat man with beady, jolly eyes approached them from across the garden and bowed humbly, his stomach serving as a slight obstruction, "Ah, The Dark Knight Sir Harvey! Word has reached us of your arrival through the village, and Master Yang's orders were quite clear. Come with me, I have rooms prepared," he began to toddle away. "Er, Sir Harvey? Would you like a basin and a razor? Stubble does not become you, if it's not to bold to say so."

"No it isn't," Cecil replied. "Thank you."

They followed the man through a labyrinth of tapestried halls, thick with the scent of incense. Many that they met in the halls would gawk as they passed. Were they so sheltered that they had never seen a foreigner before, or was it his features their eyes lingered upon? Perhaps they thought him a relative of their Demonslayer?

At last, after the man had stopped to chat to several of the servants, issuing various orders to each one, they reached the promised rooms.

"Sir Harvey, you will have your own room, as will Lord von Muir," the servant hastily unlocked the doors. "Lord von Muir will take the room on the right..."

"Good night, Cecil," said Rosa from the Dark Knight's side. She placed her palm on his cheek, "Try to sleep. I have a feeling we'll all need to rest as often as we can in the days to come."

Awareness tingled in the back of Cecil's neck, and he suddenly felt as if he would never see her again. A bit overwhelmed by the sudden feeling, he pulled her into his chest. She returned his embrace, despite her surprise, "Cecil? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm simply apologizing," he muttered into her hair. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Rosa. I'm sorry I'm forcing you to wait for me, but I can't-"

She pulled away from him and stared up into his eyes, brushing his hair from his face. "I believe we'll be together, one day. I trust you, Cecil, and I love you."

Hesitating for only a moment, he kissed her brow, still overcome by the feeling of loss, "Goodnight, Rosa. Sleep well."

Giving him a bemused look, she turned to follow the impatient fat servant to the room she would be sharing with Rydia. He glanced about to see what Edward was doing, and found him addressing the servant who held their pack in his arms; assuming all would be dealt with under Edward's expert hand, Cecil felt safe entering the room he was being given the use of.

The room was four times as large as his small room back in the northwest tower, and that appeared to simply be the antechamber. Feeling foolish among this waste of wealth as a man of simple tastes, he pushed open the heavy dark wood double doors opposite him, their golden fixtures gleaming in the candlelight. He found himself in a room with an overlarge four post bed, sheer blue gauze draped across its frame. It was joined by the traditional heavy fabric, meant to block the sunlight from the large window on the north facing wall that provided a picturesque view of the Fabulian countryside. The rest of the room was luxuriously decorated, but Cecil paid it no mind and sat down on the mattress to remove his boots.

No sooner had he begun to remove his tunic than a knock on the door sounded through out his room. Casting his tunic to the bed, the top five buttons of his undershirt loosed, Cecil stood and granted entrance.

In stumbled two servants, a male holding the clothing they'd bought in market the morning before, and a female with a wash basin cradled in her arms. Within a jug of steam water, a razor, and two large towels lay. Both took in his unkempt appearance rather quickly, and bowed; the woman blushed.

"Are you really a Dark Knight, Lord?" asked the lad, his expression one of awe.

"Yes, I am," Cecil walked over to the girl and took her burden from her. "Where would be an appropriate place to set this?" He asked her, and she averted her shy, hazel eyes.

"Over here, Lord," she replied, pointing toward a large, oaken dresser; he placed the basin there and carefully removed its contents.

"Where would you like me to place your clothing, milord?" asked the youth, and Cecil looked over his shoulder, motioning to the bed; he noted the youth was strapping, his shoulders broad, though he was not yet of age, by the look of him.

"Wait a moment. I have a job for you," he held up a hand as the girl poured the water in the basin. "Thank you, young miss, you are excused."

Her blush deepened, and Cecil wondered how long she had gone unnoticed by the courtiers here. "Of course milord." Then, with a ruffle of robes, she was gone.

"You said you had a job for me, Lord?" The lad looked at him expectantly.

"Yes. Down the hall sleeps a woman and a girl-child. I wish for you to check on them bi-hourly," he swooped down to the clothing and the bed and found, to his delight, that the youth carried with him a few of Cecil's personal affects that had been stowed within their equipment. "If your superiors question you, show them this. It should get you out of trouble," he threw the boy the signet ring that had destroyed Mist, now harmless, the Red Wings emblem emblazoned upon the jewel. He was unsure when he had picked up the ring, but he was grateful now that he had.

The young man scurried away, and Cecil realized he really wasn't far removed from that boy, though he certainly felt as if he were eons older.

His mind now more at ease over the matter of Rosa, Cecil set himself to the task of shaving.

Though his face did burn after he had finished, he had felt agonizing pain that this mere annoyance paled in comparison to. He removed his shirt, and was about to go to bed when another knock caused him to jam his arms back into his sleeves and walk to the door.

He flung it open to find a squat woman who appeared to be in her thirties standing in the doorway. Her eyes were nearly black, and glittered with wanton mischievousness. She was accompanied by a pair of what Cecil could only assume to be White Magi.

"_You're _Master Cecil?" she laughed and invited herself in. "Sit down so my friends can soothe that skin of yours." Seeing no other way of getting to bed, he did as he was told. "I'm Sheila Leiden, Yang's wife. You _are_ a cutie! Those court women were right!"

He blushed at the unabashed flattery, "Pleased to meet you, Lad-"

"Just call me Sheila, doll," she waved him off. "I'm just a village girl, no high-faulting Court Lady." She saw the clothes he had thrown onto his floor. "It's good to see not all military men are neat freaks, like they seem to be around here; makes me feel normal."

She reminded Cecil of Maude, in a way, and he found himself wondering how the old woman was doing. "I'm certainly not known for my cleanliness."

"You don't look like a terror," she commented as the Magi began the process of healing him; Cecil tried to ignore the sensation of a slight breeze all over his body, but to little avail. "You seem sweet and earnest. Oh, and this is 'thank you' for saving my oaf of a husband's life, since I'm sure he didn't thank you properly."

She handed him something that he hadn't noticed she'd been holding, "I saw your lass on the way to the bath house. She said your head band was getting frayed, so I went through my needle work materials and found this."

He took the length of strong, dark blue fabric from her small, worn hands, admiring it, "Thank you, Sheila."

She waved it off, "I don't even remember what I was going to use it for now; just promise me you won't wear it with something it doesn't match with. I don't want to have to dress you, too; I already have to deal with my husband!"

He nodded; the sensation of wind faded, "I can promise you that, Sheila."

"Good. I'll let you get to bed," she winked at him. "G'Night, Cecil."

"Goodnight."

She and her White Magi escort departed, leaving Cecil alone.

This time, he wanted to make sure no one else would come into his room, so he waited for several minutes. When no one came, he removed his shirt completely and finally put out the candles and climbed into the bed, drawing the curtains about him.

He fell to sleep, though his dreams were haunted by strange images that seemed to dance just out of reach before fluttering tantalizingly back into view, ebbing and flowing like the tide. Amber eyes, cold with hatred; a green light, sputtering and then fading to naught but a dim glow; a woman's scream of fear and desperation; a pleasant, deep, voice echoing through his mind, words unheard, but taunting…

"Cecil!"

Rydia's voice and the sound of bed curtains being ripped open jarred him from his deep sleep, and his dreams disappeared from his memory, leaving nothing more than the heavy fog of sleep.

"Rydia?" he slurred, opening his eyes at the sudden weight of tiny arms about his neck. "What time is it?"

"Early," answered Edward. "Get up, Lord Captain Bed Head; we have work to do before our audience."

"Rosa and I are gonna go to the baths to look pretty!" Rydia told him; he chuckled and sat up, pulling her into his lap. "I've never got to look pretty before!"

"I'm sure that you'll be beautiful," Cecil told her, peering over her head at Edward, who was stifling a chuckle in amusement.

"Go find Rosa now, Rydia. Cecil and I have to get ready, as well," Edward said, and Rydia nodded, sliding from the bed and scurrying away, but not before giving Cecil a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"Bye!" The door slammed and she was gone.

Edward was openly laughing at him when he turned his head back around, and Cecil frowned, "She really loves you, Cecil. Have you considered adopting her?"

"I don't think I have a choice," Cecil said fondly, standing and stretching.

Though he did not know if he were truly ready for such a responsibility, he could not simply abandon Rydia to chance. He had been in her place, and it was something he could not condone. What would Kain think, when he brought the girl home with him?

He found himself wondering about Kain. He felt guilty for not thinking of his best friend for so long, but he had been distracted. Kain would not want him to fret over his own personal dramas with so much at stake, so he concentrated upon the task at hand, believing his best friend to be fine.

"I'm sorry to tell you, but you need to brush through your hair," Edward told him as he picked his clothing up off the floor. "You also need to wash up, and-"

"And shine my boots, retrain my hair, learn the rules of addressing King Lao," he sighed. "I loathe formalities, but I suppose nothing can be done." He looked around. "Where is Yang?"

"Preparing the King for our arrival. Our audience is in only a few short hours," Edward asserted. "I've been up for a while already, gathering as much information as I could. Thankfully, King Lao was once the Master Monk, so not even foreigners are required to use special speech to adress him. You are extremely polite, so I don't feel the need to warn you about _that_."

Cecil noticed the pick that Edward now held in his hand, "May I?"

"Of course. I'll work on your boots. Hurry, I'd like to be able to reach the -" he cut himself off abruptly. "You sleep with your blade?"

Cecil laughed. "I have it already, do I? No, Edward," he shook his head, "I do not sleep with it. The Dark Blade and I are connected. I'm dependent upon it for sanity, though the great irony is that contact with it will slowly drive me insane." He closed his eyes and sighed, "It's almost like another limb. Now," he said as he ran the pick through his hair, pulling out hefty snags, "tell me what you were going to say. Where is it you would like to reach?"

"The armory. Baron is bound to arrive while we're here, and leather armor will no longer protect you," he nervously brushed a strand of hair behind his hear. "And ..." he hesitated. "And I would like if you helped me learn how to defend myself with a weapon of some sort."

Cecil stared at Edward blankly, blinking, "Edward, you're a civilian. You-"

"I know, Cecil, but..." he took a deep, shuddering breath. "I can't be a victim any longer. I have to defend the people important to me," he was staring at Cecil's boots, eyes distant; Cecil knew he was thinking about Anna.

"Mo more 'what-ifs,' my friend," Cecil said, placing the pick on the oak dresser and turning his attention fully upon the Prince; the man did not meet his gaze. "Look at me, Edward," his eyes slowly met Cecil's. "I will help you if you promise me to make an attempt to stop doubting yourself. You are _not _a coward. I know it may be difficult to see, but you are a very courageous individual."

"For the record, Cecil, you are no more a monster than I am a warrior," Edward said softly, "but thank you. No matter what happens to us, just know I am glad to have met you."

Cecil did not know what to say, but the door opened, preventing him from having to speak.

In came a maid, holding a new basin and a new jug of water.

"You called for this, Lords?" she asked.

"Yes. Please, place it over on the dresser," directed the bard prince.

She inclined her head, did as she was told, and hurried from the room.

Cecil, who was still battling with his hair, finally removed the last of the snags and poured the water into the basin, wondering when the one from the night before had been removed. He cleaned himself off as best as he could, unsurprised when he pulled away and the water was murky; not after the battle on Mt. Hobbs.

"Are you ready?" Edward asked, and Cecil turned to find his shirt in his face.

"Do you have everything you need for my hair?" Cecil asked as he pushed his arms through the sleeves of his new, crisp shirt, scanning for any sign of his new pants on the floor.

He found them, snatched them up, and began to rise.

Edward nodded, which Cecil narrowly caught from the corner of his eye. "I made sure to make the necessary provisions. There's nothing wrong with being prepared," his friend assured him, moving to restrain his long locks, then laughed. "By the gods, Cecil, you have thick hair!" exclaimed the prince as he pulled Cecil's hair back. "My hair is thin, but yours-!"

Cecil shrugged, waiting as Edward worked. "Rosa seems to enjoy my hair." Edward pulled away, and Cecil proceeded to dress. "There was a time when I wore it short, you know. I'm an orphan, and only nobles are permitted to grow it out in Baron, but when I was promoted to Lord Captain of the Red Wings, King Thomas insisted that I grow it out." Edward handed him his tunic. "Still, I've never made a habit of growing it too long, its not proper or manageable. I ought to cut it again. It's never been quite this long before."

"You never knew your parents?" Edward asked in shock as Cecil fastened his scabbard and his belt about his waist. "But you grew up in castle Baron, did you not? Who raised you? I know his Highness Baron paid for your upbringing, but surely..."

"I raised myself," The Dark Knight told Edward, examining himself in the looking glass. The look of shock planted on Edward's face caused him to elaborate, however. "Oh, I had guardians, to be sure. It's not as if I ran about completely unsupervised!" The idea made him chuckle a bit. "Yet there is no one man who I would claim as my father. Cid, that's the chief engineer, acted as my disciplinary force, King Thomas always seemed to be there when I most needed him, and of course there were three Knights who all acted in fatherly roles at some time or another, but no one man raised me as his own."

"I guess I never realized how fortunate I was, having parents," Edward muttered. "A nurturing mother, and a stern but kind father... I can scarcely imagine what it must have been like for you, growing up and having no one but yourself." He cleared his throat and changed the subject; he'd lost his parents, too, and a pang of sympathy for the bard welled within the Dark Knight's chest. "Tell me more about your childhood in Baron, Cecil."

"Only if you intend to return my stories one day, Edward," joked Cecil, trying to take his friend's mind off of those dark days. "Nothing is for free, you know."

"Perhaps, someday," Edward smiled softly. "Right now, I'm more interested in Baron. Despite being so powerful, I never really was taught anything about it from my tutor. He said something about them being 'extremely private'."

Cecil returned Edward's smile with one of his own as they lingered at the doorway. "Your intellectual curiosity would be better sated by my friend, Kain. I care more of the people than of Baron's history."

"No matter," sighed the prince, "It will have to wait until another day."


	10. Eight: Quisling

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Eight: Quisling

Above them extended the ceiling of the throne room, its dark arches shadowed in the dim torchlight. The runner down the isle was a rich scarlet, muffling the footfalls of the Dark Knight and his companions as they approached the throne. Golden statues of serpentine dragons and willowy winged women flanked either side of the narrow pathway, a silent, gold gazed audience for the young man's approach.

He was reminded of another hall, one not quite so grand, stone walls haunted with flickering shadows cast by torchlight, a simple wooden throne resting at its head instead of a gold monstrosity. It was in that place that he had been stripped of his last remaining freedom, his once proud wings clipped.

He could only hope this meeting would fare better than the last.

King Lao, it appeared, was an aged man with a severe face whose true nature was belied by the laugh lines about his eyes. Of course, no sympathy for the Dark Knight could be found within them, and Cecil could not say he blamed the monarch.

"Tell me," King Lao said in a deep, steady voice, "what it is that brings you to Fabul, Dark Knight of Baron."

Cecil met the Monk-King's eyes with an unflinching gaze, "I offer you a warning, Your Highness." He paused, and when the room remained steeped in silence he continued to speak. "As you well know, Baron seeks the conquest of the world's Crystals. They have decided to wage war to obtain them." He paused, placing his hand over his heart. "I fear, Your Highness, that Baron now seeks Fabul's Crystal. I ask that you allow me to assist in its defense, so that we may stand against my homeland's tyranny and prevent her from further disgrace."

"This, from the Dark Knight who destroyed Mysidia," the King's eyes narrowed in cold hatred. "Do you think I should trust you? For all I know, you're leading them here." He stood, his fists clenching into balls at his side, and Yang moved to stop him, but Lao turned his fierce eyes upon the Monk. "No, Yang. One good deed does not justify a lifetime of evil. Had he sworn off that blade, the situation may be different, but still he wears it at his hip!"

Cecil's eyes never wavered from the King's form, though he felt his throat constrict.

"King Lao."

It was Edward's soft voice that rang through the chamber, filled with a benevolence few ever learned the mastery of. Cecil was taken off guard.

"Prince Edward, I had not noticed you," King Lao lowered himself to his throne as if embarrassed. He glanced about nervously, "Tell me, where are King Gilbart and Queen Elise?"

"They were murdered in a Baroni fire bombing." His voice did not waver, as it had when he had spoken of his family earlier. It was calm. Controlled. Cecil could but detect a hint of hesitance in his voice.

The silence about them grew to an unfathomable depth.

"The Red Wings-" Lao began.

"Took our Crystal," Edward finished simply. Everyone looked stricken; King Lao looked sick. Edward continued. "Sir Harvey was not the man at their helm. In fact, he valiantly tried to prevent the attack, though I am afraid he was late in arriving. I have traveled with him here knowing his intentions were pure and wishing to offer him any support I could muster." Edward continued slyly. "And, as I am sure you well know, we bankers are shrewd creatures. It is impossible to pull the wool over our eyes, so to speak."

Lao was quiet, his head bowed in obvious mourning. Finally, he looked up, giving Cecil an unreadable look. "Forgive me, Dark Knight. It seems you are an earnest man. I have judged you by your reputation alone, and for this I am sorry. I was simply concerned for the well being of my Kingdom," he stood once more, and stepped down from the dais.

Cecil was about to respond, but the doors at the end of the hall slammed open, and Li stumbled in, flanked by Tai and several other young monks. His face was as pale as the grave, and he looked weak kneed. "Your Highness!" He called out, his voice wavering. "Airships on the horizon! Fifteen of them! R-"

"Red as blood," Cecil said evenly, though he felt his stomach churn. "They'll be flying in a Zhu Migration Pattern. Their colors are white and red, the red an emblem in the form of a drake. They are moving with terrifying speed, and appear to be growing ever larger by the second." He closed his eyes, envisioning the Red Wings in the horizon of his mind. "King Lao, please allow me to lead the assault," he entreated. "I know the Red Wings better than I know my own self. I can help you."

When he opened his eyes he found King Lao standing directly in front of him; had he been less tempered he would have recoiled in shock. He stood two heads higher than the Dark Knight, even at his age, and his grave eyes made him a bit intimidating. With a sudden darting movement, he bowed and spoke in a low, even voice. "Sir Harvey, my Kingdom is in your hands. Please, save my people."

Suddenly, Cecil changed. His attitude of careful respect disappeared, replaced by an air of authority, his meek and respectful spirit melting away to favor the stalwart confidence of a leader. Cecil turned toward the small group of Monks who had gathered at the foot of the dais, crowding about the Dark Knight.

He addressed them, "I need someone to hail a servant to fetch my armor." He then turned to Li and Tai. "Li, take Rosa and Rydia to the infirmary. I want them to assist with the wounded. Tai, take two other men to the village and gather the citizens. Take them to the dungeons here in the Palace; they will be safest here. Women and children take priority."

Li took Rydia's hand and began to lead her away, but the green haired girl cast Cecil a frantic look. "Take care of Rosa for me," he told her, his eyes locking with Rosa's momentarily before he returned his gaze to Rydia. Rydia's face drew up into an expression of resolve, and she allowed herself to be lead away.

Cecil swallowed his apprehension over Rosa, and turned back to the remaining Monks, "Gather whatever equipment you need and meet me back here in thirty minutes. We do not have much time. Edward-"

"I'm fighting, too, Cecil," Edward declared, his honey colored eyes full of determination. "I won't be dead weight."

Knowing how stubborn the prince could be, Cecil turned his attention toward the king, "Please head for safety, King Lao. I will handle everything, if you lend me Yang. I will need his knowledge of the Palace infrastructure on my side if I am to protect the Crystal."

The King nodded his consent before being ushered away by his Chancellor, leaving Cecil standing in a nearly deserted throne room with Edward and Yang at his side. The chamber now felt even more massive and empty than it had when he walked toward the isle to meet with King Lao only a brief time before.

Still, he had no time to dwell on his own feelings about the situation. The Dark Knight removed his tunic and pulled his scarf from where he had fastened it around his bicep. He tied up his hair and loosened his collar and cuffs and removed his scabbard from his belt, holding it in his hand.

"How many walls are there between the Gate Bridge and the Inner Palace?" Cecil asked Yang; he'd not thought to count them on his way in.

"Three," replied the Master Monk. "Four, if you count the door to the Crystal Chamber."

"Can we station guards at the entrances?"

Yang nodded.

"Good. We will meet the ground forces with any remaining Monks you have on hand."

A servant was admitted, cradling Cecil's armor against his chest. He placed it at Cecil's feet and politely offered to help the Knight with the task of putting it on. Before long, Cecil was once again garbed in the darkness of hell, standing on the third step of the dais, facing the small gathering of Monks there.

Though their faces were grim their eyes held respect for him, and Cecil knew they would follow his orders without question; he only hoped their faith was not misplaced. With a flourish, they bowed to him, their hands clasped in front of their bodies, and Cecil realized they were waiting for him to speak.

"Men" he said, and even the walls seemed to listen, "I know what it is to stand where you are now. I know what it is to be asked, as someone who feels inexperienced, to risk your life for a cause." He met their eyes and saw understanding there. Encouraged, he continued. "But you know of loyalty to your people, and you know of honor, and I am certain you also know of sacrifice." There was a mutter of agreement. "I have sworn my life to the defense of the innocent, something else we share, and as a more experienced warrior I now share with you this piece of advice." He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "Say your prayers now, settle with your demons, for we face the very forces of Chaos, forces that threaten to consume us. Tonight we fight, and if we fall, at least we will fall knowing we have died for love. Hold this in your heart, and you will not falter."

For awhile, the room was silent, but then Yang spoke up. "What are your orders, Sir Cecil?"

Cecil looked at the faces of his two companions. In Yang's face he found the resolve to fight and the desire to protect his people, and deep in Edward's eyes he found fear, but he also saw determination and an overwhelming desire to do what he thought was right. Drawing strength from their resolution, Cecil addressed the Monks, "I want squads of four placed at all the doors leading to the Crystal Chamber, and guards in the passages to the dungeons. The rest of you come with me," he moved down the dais, "We will meet the main assault force."

His orders were swiftly followed, and the group departed.

It was not long until they emerged into the light of the morning.

Indeed, Cecil could see the airships on the horizon, smears of red against the blue of the sky. The twin moons had not yet set, and they, too, loomed in that sky, the Red Moon still burning. The Red Wings would be sure to take the moon as a sign of good fortune.

To Cecil it had become the omen of death.

They moved like furies across the sky, though to the Dark Knight it seemed as if their arrival took eons. They seemed to swell as the sky grew ever more pregnant with their red hulls.

Then, without warning, monsters were raining from the sky, slithering toward them like a sick, black, smoke. He could feel Edward tense beside him, but had no time to worry about the Prince, as the beasts descended upon them.

With a single, fluid, movement he loosed his blade, unleashing his fury upon the advancing horde. He was aware of Yang's calculated blows and Edward's soft song through the din of battle, but little else until tremors shook the ground beneath his feet.

"Fall back!" Cecil ordered as bombs screamed overhead, spitting crimson fire, "We'll have to hold our ground in the keep!"

Away from the curling flames they fled, into the cool retreat of the dark keep, the only light that of flickering torchlight. Still outside, a lone group of Monks defended the people.

The Outer Palace, which Cecil barely remembered passing through the day before, was where the guards made their home, it was the last defense before the peace of the Inner Palace's gardens, and was where they would make their stand. Despite the cool of the building sweat still rolled down Cecil's back as he doubled back further into the dark building, parrying the blow of one of the Red Wings leading the ground forces.

"What madness is this?" he heard Yang demand as the doors grated close.

"They did not employ the use of monsters under my command," Cecil replied shortly as the doors groaned under the pressure of claws and the force of the heat. "Hold your ground!"

Like a clay pot thrown against the wall, the door burst, sending splinters of wood in every direction. A steady flow of monsters and men crept in through the narrow hole, much like a river, and in the hallway the Dark Knight and men of Fabul fought against the onslaught of Red Wings.

It was not long, however, before Cecil was barking order to retreat, "Through the gardens! Bar the door!"

Through the gardens they raced, into the maze of halls that looked pitifully straightforward to Cecil now that they were caught in the heat of battle. "Be sure to lead them away from the side wings. We make our final stand in the throne room," Cecil told the dwindling force. "If we can outlast them, we can keep them away. They will have a limited supply line."

There was another crash and the door failed. Its hinges broke, slammed into the dirt.

Cecil, once again began to cut down the creatures that came toward them, backing himself deliberately into the barred throne room doors, which opened as the guards pushed upon them. Soon enough, Cecil and his troop were locked inside the vast chamber.

Edward looked sick, positively weakly, bracing himself against one of the statues, and Yang shone with sweat. Cecil himself appeared calm and collected, in part due to the fact that his armor hid him from view, but also due to his combat experience.

Suddenly, there was a groaning noise as the doors creaked slowly open. The throne room was breached!

"Damnation!" Cecil cursed, rushing forward to meet the onslaught once more. "Yang! Where do we go?"

"The Crystal Chamber!" replied the monk, closer to the Dark Knight than he had suspected. "I will open the pathway!"

They began their withdrawal to the confines of The Crystal Chamber, but Edward was not moving, too exhausted from their battles to move on without being physically dragged. The monsters closed in on him, like a dark tide.

It was Cecil and Yang who came to his rescue. Yang pulled the Prince away from the monsters, and Cecil channeled his energy into a dark wave that sent the creatures to their knees, shrieking in terror and pain.

Back to the door, Cecil fought off the encroaching monsters as Yang, still supporting Edward, pressed a switch on the wall, opening a hidden doorway in the wall. The remaining group disappeared through the hole in the wall, and the doorway slid closed with a shudder.

"I-" Edward panted. "I am sorry. It- it seems..."

"Enough. Regain what energy you can," commanded Cecil, sitting with his back toward the Crystal's dais. "We must rest while we are able."

The Dark Knight was unsure how long they spent in that glass smooth room, the Crystal flickering to occasional darkness as tremors of the fire bombing shook the foundations of the fortress. It was nearly silent, other than the groan of ancient stone as it was bombarded by fire, and the heavy breathing of Edward.

Then, without so much as a whisper of warning, the door to the chamber rose, sending beams of dusty sunlight through the calm darkness of the Crystal Chamber.

Cecil stood, blinking into the light, his hand resting warily upon the hilt of his blade as a shadowy figure advanced upon them.

"Cecil."

Immediately, the Dark Knight felt himself relax, the voice one he had known for most of his life. He smiled, relieved to see that the man looked unharmed. "Kain!"

Kain did not smile, garbed in the full arraignment of a Dragon Knight, clutching his lance in hand. Cecil suddenly felt wary of his friend, as if the man who walked toward him were not Kain at all, but a monster who wore his skin. Cecil stepped backward, feeling his stance grow defensive, "Kain, I'm glad you're all right."

A glimmer of some unnamed emotion flashed over his features, but when he responded his voice was cold. "I had hoped you had survived." Kain lunged forward, landing in front of him with a grace only Dragon Knights could seem to muster. His lips drew into a sneer, and the Dragon Knight raised his lance. "Fight me, Cecil!"

Then, with terrifying speed, his best friend and a man he had known since they were both pages wet behind the ears, leaped into the air. Cecil could do nothing other than defend himself, back stepping quickly, before the blow could strike him.

He and Kain had sparred plenty of times before; they had pushed one another to grow and improve. But Cecil was also a soldier, and he recognized intent to kill. This was not a childhood war-game. This was all too real.

"Stop, Kain! What has gotten into you?"

"Silence, traitor!" as he hit the ground, Kain ricocheted into the air, coming down upon Cecil once more in short work.

Cecil managed to avoid the blow, but his blade, which he had used to parry, was not so fortunate.

Kain's lance hit the blade, snapping it clean in two, sending the long shards of obsidian dark metal flying.

At the very moment the blade broke, Cecil let out a cry of pain as crippling agony racked his body. He fell to his knees, his ties to the Darkness severed, depriving him of its lifeblood, so precious to him. He could almost hear the Darkness in his blade screech in furious pain as it scattered, defeated in the Light of the Crystal.

Kain landed nimbly in front of the immobile Knight and kicked him onto his back, placing the tip of his lance on the exposed panel of flesh on Cecil's neck. "You always were weak," he sneered as Cecil writhed, feeling the Light slowly wind its way around his heart, attacking him, searing his insides. "You're dependent upon that sword of yours, upon its Darkness, but I need no Darkness to sustain me, to shield me. _That_is why I am superior to you," he spat. "Goodbye, Cecil. I wish you well in the depths of the underworld that are reserved for traitorous murderers like you!"

"Kain, stop!"

Cecil, who still had a tenuous hold of his own sanity, could only think of how he did not want Rosa to see him this way; he was dying from the conflict inside of him, the unseen battle within him raging silently.

"Ro...sa?" Cecil saw something akin to pain flash over Kain's visage, though it was more brief than lighting, and his voice held a bewildered tone. "What am I...?" Then, he, too, seemed to be suffering from deep inner torment. He cast his lance to the floor in disdain, and turned away from her, staring at the floor, at Cecil. Shame was etched into his expression, though Cecil could not discern his eyes from behind his mask. "No! Don't look at me! I-!"

All at once, the pain in Cecil's body subsided enough for him to sit upright, his lucidity returning. When he finally could see, it became abundantly clear what the source of Darkness that now sustained him was.

Clad in black armor that spoke of hellfire, a billowing cape forged of nightfall and terror flowing from his back, was one of a frame so massive it could only belong to one man.

"Lord Golbez..." Kain muttered and straightened, his face returning to stony indifference.

Rosa spun, her angelic face stricken with shock and fear. Automatically, it seemed, she took a step back, her fists clenched into balls, white with strain. Cecil wanted to take her into his arms, to shield her from the fiend, but he could not stand, and so he was forced to watch as the man strode forward with the grace and murderous intentions of a lioness.

"Kain, you've failed me," he said in a voice uncharacteristically velveteen; Cecil realized that this Golbez must be younger that his status belied. "A shame. I had so much faith in you."

His gaze turned to Rosa, and Cecil suddenly felt the need to warn her; call out to her. "Rosa! Rosa, please!"

His voice sounded weak to him, distant, as if he were at the opposite end of the room, though he was only a few feet away.

Yet it seemed Golbez had heard him.

"So this is the one this outlaw holds dear," drawled the villain boredly. With a languid movement, he extended his arm and enfolded Rosa in the massive folds of his cape. When his arms fell to his side, Rosa was gone, disappeared into the black abyss. "I will take her, to hold in trust until we meet again."

"No!" Cecil felt as if he were removed from his body, a different kind of anguish overtaking him. "No, Rosa!" He struggled to stand, but the Light of the Crystal overwhelmed him, even with Golbez' Darkness saturating the room. Hatred, cold and sick, gripped Cecil's heart.

"You monster!" bellowed Yang, lunging at the man in black armor, but he was knocked aside, as if he were naught more than a ghost.

Edward stood obstinately in the dark lord's path, his gaze full of the same hatred that caused Cecil's eyes to burn and his palms to sweat. Golbez blew him away with a flick of his wrist. "Kain, fetch the Crystal. We have already tarried here too long."

Unable to do anything, Cecil watched as his best friend enclosed his hands around the gently glowing green Crystal of Wind. It's light sputtered and died as he pulled it from its pedestal, plunging the room into silent darkness. Then, they were gone.

Darkness and Light both absent, the feeling of pain subsided from Cecil's chest, leaving him exhausted and empty of all emotion, save for a deep desire for Darkness. It stirred within him, calling for the Blade that no longer was.

Gasping, he dragged himself to the fractured hilt of his sword, and grasped it in his hands as if it were a lifeline.

Then, caring for nothing but the dying Darkness in his hands, he allowed the black numbness that now filled his soul to crash over him as he slipped into the inviting arms of sleep.

Intermission

Cecil woke, but did not open his eyes, uncaring.

"... soul fractured. Are you certain?" the voice of King Lao of Fabul asked.

"Yes," another voice, Yang, replied, "he seems to be non-responsive. Even the Magi do not know what to do. Has Chaos taken him?"

"No," said someone in a soft voice, unmistakeably Edward. "He needs a sword. A Dark Blade. He once told me he was dependent upon the Darkness of his blade, and I saw his broken by the Dragon Knight in battle. Perhaps if we gave him a new blade, he would get better."

"Then what are we waiting for?" demanded a woman. "Hon, have someone get that sword!"

He heard hesitation. "It's not mine to give. It's a relic of Fabul. I'm sure..."

"No. It's a cursed thing that I have no love of," said the king. "I keep it here, in my room, to stop it from harming the people, and I am certain it haunts my dreams. I will be glad to be rid of it, even more so if it helps this brave young man recover what he has lost." There was a sound, like something being removed from a cupboard.

Cecil felt the Darkness call to him.

Like a bolt he sat, his eyes opening and focusing on the elegant, long, item wrapped in dark cloth that the king held in his hand. It smelled like Darkness, his soul hungered for it, desired to reach out and touch it.

The king, who had been watching his face, carefully inclined his head and lay the item at the foot of the bed. Reaching out, Cecil removed the cloth, admiring the sleek beauty of the Dark Blade as it called to him, but when he touched the hilt, something happened.

Rage, sorrow, regret, terror, hatred, longing...

All these emotions came crashing down upon him like a fountain, overwhelming him.

"Where am I?" Cecil asked after a long moment of drowning in his own feeling, his memories of the events after Golbez had disappeared muddled.

"The Royal Chamber," announced King Lao. "I see you are yourself once more. This is a relief. I am grateful The Great Leonard left us with his Blade at his death, or we would not have had the means to revive you."

"I must reach Baron," Cecil said. "I have need of an airship if I am going to rescue Rosa. I cannot..." he chocked, fighting back a sudden wave of crushing despair and hopelessness. He had to try, if he didn't...

"You won't be alone," said Edward. "I'm coming with you."

"As am I," said Yang.

"And me!" volunteered Rydia, unseen at his side. He turned to her in shock, feeling her take his hand. "You can't give up. I healed you, Yang, and Edward so we can go and help Rosa."

"Rydia, Yang, Edward..." Cecil had no words. Instead, he nodded, knowing that he could not change their minds no matter how much he argued with them. Their resolve was truly their own, and each had their own reasons for wanting to defeat Golbez, just as he did. All he could do was be grateful for their assistance.

But what had happened to Kain? And where were they holding Rosa?

Truly, Cid and his Airships were Cecil's only hope of ever seeing Rosa again.

"Surely Baron wouldn't expect you to use the Mist Pass?" said King Lao; Cecil noted his arm was bandaged – had be been injured in the raid?

Cecil shook his head. "No. A portion of the Pass has collapsed. I went to Damcyan through that passageway." Cecil paused, racking his brain for a solution. Suddenly, he knew what to do. "Urchin!" he exclaimed.

"What?" Edward asked. "Cecil, just what, precisely, is 'urchin'?"

"Baron's only port," he declared. "A fishing town, barely large enough to support its docks." He smiled, "Baron is not a naval power; Troia and Fabul, however..." he smiled; an attack by sea would be successful, if Baron did not discover the attack in advance. "We can reach Baron by sea!" Cecil stood up, his armor settling into place. Reaching, he grabbed his helm from the bedside table. "They won't be anticipating it, not even remotely."

"Than I shall provide you with a ship," King Lao declared, "but while I alert the Navy, you should all take this opportunity to rest. Prince Edward has told me you've had quite the ordeal."

Cecil did not want to rest, to have time alone for his thoughts to haunt him, but respectfully bowed his head. "Of course, your Highness."

Accepting the dismissal, Cecil exited the room. "Yang, is there a place where I can go to familiarize myself with this blade?"

"Are you certain you're well?" Edward cut in, his brow creased in concern.

Cecil tried not to snap at him, not after his show of support. He took a soothing breath. "Please, Edward, I don't -" he cut himself off. "I'm not-"again. "I'm not all right. I don't want to think.. I want to do, to remedy this wrong."

"There is a training ground I can take you to, Cecil" said Yang softly.

"Then I will come and watch you," Edward said. "I am worried about you."

Annoyed, Cecil strode after Yang, who walked a little farther ahead. He noticed Rydia whisper something to Edward, and from the way her eyes lingered on him, he didn't need to guess at the subject of her comment.

Why did everyone seem to think that he was unshakeable? That he should be able to calmly overlook this? He had already failed at protecting Fabul's Crystal and Rosa! His best friend had lost his mind and was convinced Cecil was a monster! And the Darkness within him was eating away at his soul!

Why could they not _trust_ him?

Why couldn't they see that he was only_human_? That he needed _space_?

Why could they not understand that all the emotions he should have felt had crushed down upon him like a torrent, that his heart had been ripped into shreds?

"Cecil," it was Yang. "I do not know you very well, but you seem ill at ease, and I think there _is_ more to your anger than what the situation would suggest."

Cecil turned on him, about to snap, but when he saw the look on the Master Monk's face he felt hot revulsion for the blade bubble up within him. Perhaps their concern was warranted. Perhaps...

"Cecil?" Yang asked.

"I am losing myself," said the Dark Knight so softly that only the Master Monk could possibly hear him. "By Gaelach, I'm losing myself to this damn blade! This burden," he muttered, "it's killing me."

"Come, young man, if we walk quickly enough we can leave Prince Edward and Miss Rydia behind and lose them in the corridors. You do not need them hovering over you and suffocating you." Yang said softly. "I will take you to the grounds, you will train, and you will gain control of yourself."

"But-"

"Do not worry. The Prince knows his way around. Come."

Yang and Cecil walked down the hall at a brisk pace, weaving their way through the labyrinth of Ha-Chi Palace. Though Cecil felt his heart grow progressively heavier as they pushed farther away from their companions.

But when they emerged into the calm of a garden, untouched by scorching flames, Cecil released a breath that he had not known he had been holding.

"We lost our Crystal, but very few died, and none of those who did are civilians. There was some damage to the palace, but nothing that time won't heal," Yang said as he began to stretch. "You saved Fabul's capital. The village is in shambles, true, but timber and stone can be replaced. The lives you saved with your decisiveness never can."

"If I am a hero, why do I feel like the villain?" Cecil wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his new blade, feeling the Darkness tingle deliciously down his spine. He exhaled as he swung the sword in a sharp downward arc, concentrating on the proper form and footwork that had been ingrained in him long ago, now second nature to the Knight. "Heroes are not the men that risk losing themselves every time they damage their blades. Heroes are valiant men, garbed in Light. Paladins."

"Indeed, there are not many Heroes who wield night," Yang agreed solemnly, drawing himself up elegantly onto the balls of one foot, "but," he kicked quickly into the air, landing on the ground in a staggered stance, his height on his back foot, "there is a first time for everything. All that aside. I do not think its your self-image that is truly bothering you. You feel you lack control."

"I _do_ lack control," one, two, pivot, slash, back step, opposite foot leads, now forward …

"No. As I see it, you practice too much self restraint," Yang said softly. "This may sound strange from someone in my discipline who does not yet know you well, but this is what I have observed of you in our brief time together." Yang turned to him, though Cecil did not cease his own movement, feeling his anxiety dissipate with every step and slash. "You do not allow yourself to feel as deeply as you should. You feel you are a monster, and so you cut yourself off from people in order to avoid hurting them, when it is truly your own pain you are afraid of. Connections cause you pain when you lose those associated with the bond, so you avoid making any bonds at all." Cecil almost dropped his blade at Yang's words, but recovered it, in spite of his shock. "Yet you are an intrinsically good person, and cannot help but do the right thing. You are the sort of earnest individual who others are naturally drawn to, and you find yourself making strong connections despite your better judgment." Yang's eyes suddenly turned sad. "It is people like you who fill my heart with sorrow, for you are so afraid of pain and rejection you ignore the pain you cause others, and the fact you cause yourself further pain by choosing to be in complete isolation."

Cecil could not speak, only stare at the Master Monk as he resumed his exercises. For a moment longer, Cecil watched the man in dumbstruck silence, but eventually recovered, returning to his own rhythmic movements. Soon the courtyard was filled only with the noises routine physical exertion brought as the men came to the silent agreement all military men come to share in training halls.

Eventually, Edward and Rydia found their way to the courtyard, but they were not alone. In their company stood Li, whose arm was secured in a sling, but looked hearty and hale otherwise. "King Lao has ordered me to inform you that the Navy is preparing a ship for you and your companions, Lord Cecil. He has also asked me to inform you that Chocobos have been saddled with your supplies. You set out for Tao immediately."

"Thank you, Li," replied the Dark Knight.

Li nodded, then exclaimed. "Oh, and my little brother asked me to return this to you," he produced the red signet ring from the folds of his voluminous pants.

Amazed at Li's family's extensive network, Cecil replied, "Tell him I said thank you, will you?"

"Of course," Li bowed, smiled at Cecil, and departed.

Rydia and Edward watched Cecil as he passed, but Cecil only waved them off, "I'm all right now, and I'll be even better once we set sail."

Yang gave him a pointed look, but seemed reassured himself. "Indeed. We should hurry. Every moment we waste here is another moment Lady Rosa is in peril."

At Yang's assurance, Edward seemed to relax, "I'm glad you're feeling better, Cecil."

"Yes, so am I," Cecil nodded and even managed a smile, which seemed to put Edward even further at ease.

Only Rydia's face still seemed to be creased in worry.

Far be it from Cecil to hide something from the innocence of a child.

Intermission

Ocean breeze tussled Cecil's hair as he leaned against the starboard railing, crimson rays of waning sunlight dying the water scarlet. Beside him stood Edward, who looked far less green than he had the day before, his head hung over the side of the rail as he stared into the waves. Yang stood at his other side, arms crossed over his chest. He had abandoned his Monk's garb for a commoner's tunic.

Even though it had been a warm late summer day, it was cool on deck at night, and even the Baroni Cecil had taken to wearing one of his heavier tunics at night.

"Five days out," said Edward in a frail voice, though to Cecil it sounded significantly more substantial than it had the day before. "How much longer will we be at sea?"

"At least a week longer," said Cecil in response, "provided the weather remains favorable. You needn't worry, though. The winds don't smell of storm, nor do the skies speak of it."

Yang gave him a quizzical look, "I thought Baron did not have a Navy?"

"Not a traditional Navy," Cecil said. "We do have ships; they simply sail the skies."

Edward, meanwhile, groaned, "How is it you two can be so cursed comfortable out here?"

"Do not worry, my royal friend," said Yang. "You will be fine in another day or so."

"Dear gods in heaven, I hope so," groaned the bard.

Sailing was not as invigorating as flying nor was it as quick as traveling to Baron by land, but they had little choice. Yet it held the same sense of freedom that always put Cecil at ease. Though Kain's cold face, Golbez's empty voice, and Rosa's terrified eyes still tormented Cecil in his sleep, his days were much more relaxed. He had formed a bond with the Master Monk over their shared love of life on a ship; Yang had served a tour of duty in Fabul's Navy when he had been a trainee. The pair would work up on deck with the crew during the day, the sweat of their backs and the pace of the work providing a backdrop for swapping of personal tales. In turn, he would spend evenings with Edward and Rydia, telling them stories of his childhood in Baron. Sunsets, however, he always spent on deck, trying to discern the path he had to take from the muddled mess that had formed in the few weeks he had been on the road.

"You'll see her again, Cecil," said Edward suddenly, discerning Cecil's thoughts, likely from the look on his face.

"When we arrive in Baron how will we find this Cid?" asked Yang.

Cecil laughed softly as he remembered the passionate, somewhat salty, man. "He's not a difficult man to find, and you needn't worry about his allegiance. I'm certain he'll side with us."

"I do not mean to seem the cynic, Cecil, but there are few involved with the military in Baron whom I would currently trust," said the monk.

"Cid isn't with the military in your conventional manor, Yang," explained Cecil. "He loves his airships more than almost anything else, and has strong convictions about right and wrong," he smiled. "He'd be more likely to hide his airships than let Golbez use them for Crystal conquest. I'm almost certain they'll have him in lock-up."

A sudden awareness tingled along the back of Cecil's neck, an awareness that made his stomach churn in worry and anticipation. It reminded him very much of Mist Cave before the Dragon had attacked, or what he felt before Mist Passage had collapsed.

He spent several minutes praying he was imagining something, but he couldn't help but notice that the wind had picked up as the twin moons, behind him, rose ever slowly into the darkening sky.

"Your judgment has never led us awry in the time that I have known you," said Yang. "I will trust you, as always."

There was a tug on the back of Cecil's pant leg as Rydia attempted to get his attention. "Cecil, can I sit on your shoulders?"

Smiling, the Dark Knight placed Rydia upon his shoulders.

"Isn't the ocean beautiful?" she asked wistfully. "It reminds me of stories my mama used to tell me."

"And what would those stories be, Miss Rydia?" asked the monk; and even Edward seemed to perk up and pay attention.

"Mama told me that one of my papa's old friends used to tell her all kinds of stories about flying whales and other kinds of things," she explained. "One was about a time of Old Magic, when Eidolons and Humans lived in harmony with one another. She said that everyone lived together in one big city, but then there was a war and Magic fell into Chaos. The Great Emperor, who ruled everything, was forced to seal Magic away on an ancient mountain." She paused. "The water reminds me of the whales, though."

"I can certainly see why," replied the monk fondly.

"I wonder what a whale looks like?" sighed the girl after another moment.

The men began to laugh, even Edward.

"Who knows?" replied Cecil at last, shaking his head in amusement.

Suddenly, a tremor shook the ship.

"Have we run aground?" asked the bard somewhat hopefully.

"No," said Yang, his brow furrowed grimly. "There are no reefs or sandbars of any sort in the area that I can recall. Just open water."

"Hit the deck!" called another voice as the vessel began to rock more violently.

The wind whipped about Cecil, who almost lost Rydia to the sea as he toppled forward. The sky had turned soot black above them, and the ocean churned, a sick shade of gray-green. From where the Dark Knight stood, he could see the vortex of a sinister whirlpool, plunging downward into an abyss of darkness and crushing water.

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded the captain as the ship was tossed about once more. "Sail away from the whirlpool, you damn fools! SAIL AWAY!"

"Captain, we can't, it's not-!" He fell silent at the sight of the shape that rose from the depths.

"It's not what, you fool? It's not what?" demanded the captain of the death-pale sailor.

No further explanation was needed when the captain turned from the dumbstruck sailor to see the ghostly shape that bloomed from the tumultuous waters, an omen of death.

It was serpentine, body curved gracefully, it's horse-like head staring at them with scarlet eyes full of a terrifying arcane knowledge that Cecil could not begin to discern. With a screech that split Cecil's ears, the creature rocked the ship, causing Cecil's grip upon Rydia to loosen for only a fraction of a second.

That second was long enough, for when another otherworldly scream signaled an attack, Cecil had not regained his hold upon the girl, and she went plummeting into the waters below.

"Cecil, help!" she cried, and he could see her eyes brimming with tears of terror from where he stood.

"Rydia! _Rydia, no!_" he moved to try and assist her, but was knocked backwards when the creature rammed the ship yet again.

"The Lord of All Waters!" he heard someone scream, but he had no time to contemplate the words when he heard a splash and saw Yang dive into the water after the girl.

"Edward! Edward, hold onto something!" Cecil called over another dreadful screech, unsure if the Prince had heard him, or even where his friend was located.

He hadn't a chance to find out, for a whip-like white tail shot out from the waters and slammed its way through the hull, tossing Cecil about and rendering him little more than human shrapnel. Like a sand castle in the water, the ship began to break apart, disintegrating into little more than pieces of wood, the heavier pieces sinking into the waves.

Plunged into the somehow icy waters, Cecil fumbled for a piece of driftwood large enough to support his weight, finally clutching onto something with saltwater-blind hands. He clambered half onto the debris, and waited as he was thrashed about for an eternity.

At last, long after the sun had set and the twin moons shone high in the sky, Cecil lay beneath a canopy of stars. He was surrounded by points of light on all sides, lost and alone in an infinite, black ocean.

Injured and exhausted, Cecil did not know how long he drifted through the water, waking and sleeping fitfully, and hardly lucid enough to care. Delirious with thirst when he at last drifted ashore, Cecil was aware of little else than the throbbing of the Darkness at his hip, the burning of his throat, and the pain in his stomach and side. It was only after several hours of staring at an endless expanse of azure sky that a sudden lucidity gripped the Dark Knight in its throes, and he was empowered with a strength he did not know he possessed.

Had Edward washed ashore?

What of Yang and Rydia?

The sailors and the captain?

Cecil pushed himself into a sitting position and frantically scanned the lonely beach for survivors. He found nothing at all to evidence the ship had even existed, except for the piece of wood to which he had so desperately clung. Not even a body had found its way to this place.

Marooned and completely alone, a feeling of loss and despair seized Cecil like a claw as he realized that there were no other survivors.

They were lost at sea.

Dead.

All of them.

And it was all his fault.

Why had he not convinced them to leave him?

Had not Ha-Chi needed the protection of its Master Monk? Was Saffrom not in need of its ruler? And Rydia... Rydia had been just a child … a child...

And now she was a dead child.

Yet he alone had survived, the most unworthy, the most wretched of them all.

He could feel the hollowness in his heart grow to consume him as he realized that he had nothing to live for anymore; except for Rosa's safety. She was the only thing tethering him to the Light, the only thing preventing Chaos from completely devouring him.

Dashing his hand against the sand, he let out a desperate, broken, cry.

Had he ever a chance of doing a single thing worthy of the Light?

Yang was right; he should have gotten close to them, shouldn't have allowed his fear to hold him back. Now they were dead at his expense and he was filled with nothing but regret at the things he could have done but did not do out of fear.

Rosa was wrong about him; Cecil Harvey was no good man.

He was a sinner and a coward, filled with nothing but hatred and fear, far beyond the light of redemption.

Bitter and completely alone for the first time since he'd began his journey, Cecil wept

_Author's Note:_

_Thank you to all my reviewers for sticking with me through all of this. I'm now officially done with Part One, and I'd like you to stick with me a bit longer for thank-yous and dedications._

_The first big thank you goes to none other than my beta, ZMistress, who is patient in putting up with the long periods between my updates, and considerate enough to inform me of her own absences, even if I'm not always quite so considerate._

_Of course, you who are reading this deserve considerable thanks, regardless of whether you review or not. But to those of you who do review, thank you for the 42 I have. I've never had so many reviews, hits, faves, or alerts in my entire three year span here on ._

_Last but not least, a thank you goes out to Aywren and Syntyche of who may not have provided direct assistance on this fiction, but have provided inspiration in their own ways. If you like pre-DS FFIV, or even if you like DS FFIV, and are looking for more creative takes of the Blue Planet, I encourage you to go to and explore. I think you'll see why I'm such a huge fan of these two women._

_Last but not least, this fiction is dedicated to anyone who has ever dreamed of writing for a living._


	11. Nine: A Thread of Light

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Nine: A Thread of Light

The stars alone were witness to the struggles of the form that supported its weight upon its blade as if it were a crutch. Clothes tattered and bloodied, a single strip of blue cloth clutched in his left hand, he stumbled and fell as he scaled a grassy slope, unaware that the sight of burning Magi-Lights awaited him at the precipice. Undeterred, he pushed himself to his feet once more, dragging himself forward with a stamina that seemed almost mechanical, as if he were a broken toy that refused to die.

The lights brought him little comfort, for his hollow eyes recognized the ruined outskirts of Mysidia City, held together by the crude glue of magic and lumber. How could he not recognize it? It was his own handiwork, a part of him, a part that he would forever regret.

That he was here now proved that the-forces-that-be must despise him. Once again they had strung him along, given him hope, only to strand him here, in the one place in the world where people would be just as likely to kill him as look at him. And once again he had taken the bait, allowed himself to be fooled.

He supposed it was his own fault, murderers like him deserved to die, and he would, once he had ensured the safety of the one thing left in this world that mattered to him. That, and the death of the bastard who had caused his suffering, the root of all this evil... Oh how satisfying it would be to feel the life ebb from him.

Undeterred, the automaton moved on, descending into the city and into oblivion.

Intermission

Rumors spread through Mysidia City like a plague, and Xander Lucatian was not immune to hearing them, though he seldom believed what he heard. Magi were a superstitious lot by nature, which made Mysidia a nation of conspiracy theorists, even if they were good-hearted conspiracy theorists.

There were some rumors, however, that even Xander could not ignore.

"Say that again, Derryl," he urged, leaning across the table to stare his twin in the eyes.

She gave him a withering look, "There's a Dark Knight staying at the Speckled Equestrian. He looks like he's fresh out of battle, according to Jayne. He doesn't speak, so there's been some question as to whether or not he's the bastard who burned half the city to the ground, but my bet's on "no". Not even a Baroni is stupid enough to walk into a city of angry magi."

There had always been an exchange of playful banter between Mysidia and Baron, but in the recent weeks the belief that Baroni citizens were wretched barbarians had become more than just a witty insult. Xander thought it was unfortunate that the actions of the aristocracy had condemned an entire people in the eyes of Mysidia, but that was the way politics were; one could never win, only break even.

"Hmm," replied the white mage, standing and clutching the book he had been reading to his chest.

"I don't like the look in your eyes, Xande," she said, frowning in that sharp way of hers, her muddy green eyes disapproving. "Please don't tell me you're going to investigate."

"No man deserves to be wounded and stranded in a city with those who refuse to help him, sister," he replied.

"Not even a man who sold his soul to Chaos?"

Though she'd meant it as a rhetorical question, Xander shook his head, "No, not even then. His soul is still there. And besides," he added, "no one else will help him if I don't."

"That's because everyone else has a brain," she muttered, standing to join him. "Well, I can hardly let you go alone, and I have some errands to run that are on the way."

Xander sighed, knowing there was no way to deter his sister once she'd made up her mind; she was nearly as stubborn as he was.

"And just where are you two going?" asked a familiar voice, laced with fondness.

Xander turned to stare at The Elder, who stood at the bottom of the stairs that ascended to The Crystal Chamber. "I'm going to the Speckled Equestrian. There's a man there who's in desperate need of my help, but sister thinks its too dangers for me to go alone."

The Elder's dark eyes sparkled amusement, "Hmm. Perhaps it is." His face, which seemed so much older since the attack, fell. "I understand you feel you must help that unfortunate man, but I entreat you, be careful. I've lost too many in my lifetime to lose you as well."

No one had lost more in the raid than Elder Maxwell Minwu, for every death was a weight upon his shoulders; though most of Mysidia did not blame him for what had happened. What's more was that he now faced criticism for his stance of non-aggression. Action, he supposed, must not be taken against the Baroni, for such behavior would directly oppose the mandate of The Patron God. Anti-Baroni sentiment was so strong, however, that a radical few were calling for The Elder's replacement, and were even audacious enough to blame the attack on his lack of foresight. Thankfully, a majority of Mysidians felt compassion toward the plight of their Elder, despite their mounting hatred of Baron. Still, a man as empathetic as Maxwell felt every pang of fear and stab of hatred that his people felt, and that emotional trauma was beginning to take its toll.

"I promise we'll be careful," said his sister softly, placing her hands across his knuckles, white from clutching his gnarled staff. "Brother and I were chosen as your guardians for a reason, Elder Minwu."

He smiled tiredly, "I trust you, Derryl, but I'm sure you understand my concern." His eyes began to twinkle again. "Don't be gone _too_ long, my pupils. It's unwise to leave a frail old man like me unguarded."

"Of course not," Derryl assured with one of her winning smiles. "Come along then, Xande."

Casting The Elder one last reassuring smile, Xander replaced the book he was holding on its shelf and grabbed his own, smooth staff from where he had propped it against the wall. Then, with nary a glance backward, Xander followed his sister into the gardens.

The Mysidian Gardens were truly a masterpiece, and had suffered very little damage in the attack. It was truly a miracle, for much of the city outside of the protective wall erected about the Tower of Prayer had been damaged, if not outright destroyed; at least in Mysida City's southern quarter.

The garden was rumored to have been seeded by Gaelach himself thousands of years before, starting with the two large trees planted on either side of the path. These two gigantic oaks were the symbols of the Twin Gods of Magic and Justice, and were part of the reason twins were considered sacred in Mysidia.

With a smile, Xander remembered climbing the smaller of the two trees as a child and being reprimanded for it. Looking at Derryl, her up-cast eyes filled humor, he could tell that she was remembering the same occurrence.

"We should hurry," she said after a moment. "I promised Reuben I would help with the scaffolding on is house. Then we can go see your oafish Baroni."

Xander nodded and pressed forward, his white robes dragging along the cobblestone path, his oaken staff clicking as it struck the ground. He was deeply troubled by the deep hatred that all Mysidians now seemed to share for those of Baroni heritage. It was as if they had forgotten the twin nature of their religions. Gaelach and Breithe were like a sword and a shield, each with their own separate applications, but much more effective when used in tandem. Rather than shower Baron with tidings of hatred and war, Mysidia should pick up the pieces of its brother nation...

Lost in thought, Xander did not notice when he nearly careened into a figure covered in a heavy black cloak and was very nearly spun into a half-destroyed well. At the last moment, however, his sister's hands steadied him.

"Xander!" she scolded, her face filled with worry and anger.

The White mage shook his head, "I'm sorry Derryl, it's just... I can't stand this whole situation. Hatred… Mistrust … Bitterness … It's not Breithe's way."

Her exasperated face softened, but her response was silenced by the sound of cracking wood as a body fell backwards through the door of a nearby pub.

The form was followed by a surge of unintelligible shouts and a wave of bodies attempting to push its way through the door, lead by a young mage in blue robes with a shock of bright red hair.

"Baroni scum! Dark Knight cur! Murderer!" spat the young mage, who Xander recognized as one of the novitiates who had lost family in the raid.

Tearing his gaze from the tangle of limbs, Xander found his eyes lingering on the form of the stranger, who now struggled to his feet. He was as pale as moonshine with hair so pale that it nearly matched, though both his hair and skin were stained scarlet with blood that poured from a deep gash on his forehead. He stood, left hand clutching his left side, where Xander saw a deep well of blood had darkened his already black shirt and tunic. His jaw was clenched in defiance and determination, and his bright eyes shone with agony and a sort of resolve that Xander had only seen on the faces of the dying. What was most staggering, however, was the sheer youth of that face; this was a young man who would barely be past boyhood in Mysidia.

"And you shall have your vengeance," he assured in a voice that sent chills of recognition down Xander's spine; a voice he had only heard once before but was unable to forget, no matter how hard he tried. "I will not, however, die here and now. Not until I claim my own vengeance and save a life precious to me. I am sorry, but you will have to wait to take my life."

"Sorry!" exclaimed the mage in his rage, tears streaking down his face. "Sorry? Sorry isn't good enough! Sorry won't bring back my father."

"I know that."

It still struck Xander how pleasant that voice was, though it was laced with a thick Baroni accent, but this time it wasn't a hollow voice. It was filled with a brokenness and a self loathing that Xander could scarcely fathom, even on his worst days.

"You don't know!" shouted another voice from the mob, this one shrill and female. "My husband died because of you! We were only just wed!"

"You struck down my sister!" called someone else.

"My home was destroyed because of you!"

"You demolished our crops and fishing vessels!"

"Hundreds were orphaned because of you!"

At the last claim, Xander detected the slightest widening of the Dark Knight's eyes. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then shook his head, his brows knitting together. "No. Now, I cannot. Not until Rosa is safe. Then, and only then, will I atone."

It was then that Xander felt it, the first flicker of what the Elder had once refereed to as "God Light". It was a Light comparable to the grandeur of the Crystal, but Xander had no clue where it could be emanating from, especially since it was so faint, but so uncharacteristically unwavering.

That was, until the mob finally lashed out.

A blow from none other than the red haired mage hit the Dark Knight square in the chest. It sent him to the ground in his weakened state, but he did not seek recourse, even though he could have very easily killed his assailant if he had so wished. The Light, in response, seemed to grow ever so slightly more bright.

It was then and only then, in the presence of this discovery, that Xander's frozen muscles once again agreed to move. Shock and uncertainty at the presence of this murderer gave way to a desire to protect this stranger long enough to take him to The Elder.

"Stop!" Xander demanded, running to the man's side to kneel in the dirt. "Can none of the magi here sense it? This man is not to be harmed, the Light-!"

"Traitor!" accused the trainee, who was still hovering over them, like a Zhu prepared to pick meat from his victim's bones. "You'd chose this murdering bastard over justice! Over our countless dead, homeless and injured?"

Xander looked to his sister for support, but saw conflict written upon her face. Clearly, she was torn between her love for him and her belief that the Dark Knight should be sent to the gallows. Xander realized with a pang that she would not help him, and that he, as her brother, could not possibly ask her to.

He was alone.

He placed a hand underneath the man's elbow. "Can you stand?" he whispered. "I have a plan to get you out of here."

The man's eyes met with his own, filled with confusion and a glimmer of deep and sincere gratitude, though these emotions were masked by a pain that did not originate from his wounds. "Why? Why help me? Don't you realize who I am?"

Xander shook his head and pulled the Dark Knight to his feet.

To be honest, he really wasn't pleased now that he knew the wounded Dark Knight truly was the captain of the massacre, yet … True remorse shone in the depths of those eyes, and it was coupled with a mounting Light that should not be able to exist within the depths of the Darkness that Xander could feel ensnared him even now.

"I_don't_ chose him," Xander said at last, "but I _feel _something within him. Murderer or not, there is a Light there that was not there before." He took a deep breath, staring into a sea of angry and disbelieving faces. "And... And it is not ours to judge him. Magi or not, _all_Mysidians are lead by The Elder, and should know that it is his place to judge the wicked. It is law, and for good reason, for only The Elder can truly see into his heart."

There was a murmur, and though the crowd looked upset this seemed to diffuse the situation. They believed The Elder would pass judgment upon the villain, who had pulled free of Xander's grasp and was now combing the shattered fragments of the doorway for something. It appeared to be a simple engagement ring that dangled from a chain, when he at last unearthed it from the rubble, and Xander wondered at its significance.

Standing upright again, though not without effort, he ignored the lingering crowd and addressed Xander in the quick, curt speech that all Baroni seemed to favor. "You are able to take me to Elder Minwu?"

Xander wasn't sure what to say, uncomfortable at being in the presence of The Dark Knight, so he settled for a nod. His defense of the man was certain to condemn him in the eyes of his fellow Mysidians, but … But he had to do the right thing.

He had always been that way, ever since he was child. Going into the Order of Breithe, he had sworn an oath of celibacy, and though many of the novitiates ignored those rules to experiment, he had adhered to them strictly. It had always been his way, and even the Dark Knight would not change this.

He took a step toward Xander, but faltered and gasped, flailing hopelessly around trying to find something to steady himself on. Xander, close by, reached out to help him, but not before his sister grabbed and steadied him. "Don't think this means I forgive you," she growled at him, "but I won't see my brother suffer alone on your behalf."

He returned her gaze steadily, his eyes oddly earnest for one who had razed a city, "No, of course not."

She blinked in his direction, then turned to Xander. "It's not safe to treat him here. I don't know what you see in him, but we need to take him to The Elder."

Xander nodded, "Y-yes. He's in danger if we stay here."

"We all are," said Derryl, eying a pair of lingering onlookers whose eyes still burned with hatred.

The return to The Tower was far slower than the stroll to the pub, even without the added weight of the injured man. Or, perhaps, it seemed to take an eternity _because_of him, for his presence turned their slow walk into a walk of shame.

There was no doubt now as to who the Dark Knight was, not after a confrontation in a busy part of Mysidia City. Word had spread like wildfire, and as they dragged the half-dead Knight through the city they were met with jeers and, at one point, pelted with rotten fruit.

Yet Xander and Derryl persisted despite the hisses of hatred from their fellow countrymen, their chins held high.

At last, the twin magi passed through the gates of the garden and walked between the oaks and into The Tower of Prayer, Xander holding the door open as his sister half-dragged, half-carried the Dark Knight through the doorway.

"Go fetch Elder Minwu!" Barked his sister to two novices who now occupied one of the study tables in a distant corner of the room. "This is a matter of utmost importance, so get a move on!"

The two novices gave each other startled glances and hurried away, looking warily at the slouched Knight as they passed.

"I'm going to sit him down, then we can take off his shirt and assess the damages," said Derryl as she pulled out one of the chairs with her foot and lowered him onto it. "Hey, you," she addressed the man harshly, "when The Elder gets here you damn well better treat him with respect. In fact, you should grovel at my brother's feet, because if he hadn't intervened, you would have been burnt to a crisp."

He glanced up at her with weary eyes, "All I desire is use of The Devil's Road."

Xander, who was cutting away the man's tunic and shirt with a knife he kept at his belt, turned his eyes upward to meet the Baroni's earnest gaze. "You can't do that, Sir. You're not at full health, and even if you were, the Darkness of The Road would surely consume you before you even reached your destination."

The man grimaced as Xander pulled away the remains of his tunic, but he spoke through gritted teeth, "I have little choice. I _must_ save Rosa … She is an innocent in Golbez's hands."

"Golbez?" asked Xander as his fingers gently probed the edges of a deep laceration across the man's lower chest and abdomen. "Derryl, we'll need to clean this wound before I heal it, would you call-"

"What is this?"

Xander looked up from his work to see the two novitiates standing in the presence of Elder Minwu, whose brow was deeply furrowed as he stared at the man upon the chair. Xander glanced at the two young Magi, and the Elder dismissed them with a wave.

When he was sure the two youths were out of earshot, Xander spoke, "This is _the_ Dark Knight of Baron, Sir ..." He trailed off, realizing they had never known the name of their personal tyrant.

"Cecil Harvey," whispered the man hoarsely, glancing up ever so slightly to stare The Elder in the eyes, as if trying to communicate something.

At that moment three things happened, and nearly all at once. Xander felt a surge of Light ripple through him from where his hands rested on the man, the man called Cecil seemed to shudder and fall still, and a visible look of shock plastered itself upon The Elder's face.

Xander struggled to support the now unconscious Dark Knight, who had passed out from the Light within him. With a pang, he recognized his last name as the surname of Baron's Royal Family. Had Baron truly sullied the name of their Royal Family with the attack on Mysidia? Could this boy truly be the Crown Prince when they had heard Sir Thomas had never produced an heir? Certainly, he bore no resemblance to his father if that were indeed the case...

Buried in his shock, Xander almost did not notice The Elder kneel beside him.

"Xander, take this young man to one of The Tower's more private rooms," said Elder Minwu, brushing hair from Cecil Harvey's face and peering at him with an expression that spoke of hesitance but also a great expectation. "I believe he is the one we have been waiting for."

"But, Elder," protested Derryl softly, "wasn't The Hero supposed to be Mysidian? And even if it was never certain, he's -"

Xander, who was now casting a levitation spell on the unconscious Knight, saw The Elder shake his head. "No, Derryl, we assumed in our arrogance that he was to be Mysidian, but this is pointless in light of the incredible power I just felt. It was faint, but pure, and the only time I have ever felt such a thing before was in the presence of a Paladin." The Elder stood and turned from them. "It seems Sir Harvey and I will have much to discuss when he wakes."


	12. Ten: Portentuos

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Ten: Portentous

The sensation that tingled through Cecil's limbs was warm, but it made him dizzy, though he could not seem to open his leaden eyelids or move his limbs. It was as if he were trapped within his own body, within some twisted black nightmare. He remembered the twin Magi and thought that he had perhaps died outside the pub and that this was the underworld. He soon realized that he was still very much alive, however, when he heard the muffled sounds of movement from beyond his comfortable prison.

At last, the sensation drained from his limbs and he was able to open his eyes and, he found, sit up.

For a moment he simply tried to get his bearings, for his head still spun with vertigo and he could not see his hand clearly, let alone his surroundings. Finally, his head cleared, and he was able to clearly observe his whereabouts.

He was sitting in a simple bed covered in white linens, his pants still on and his sword at his side, which told him that his caretakers understood the delicate nature of Dark Blades and their masters. The room itself had walls painted pale blue, though the ceiling was painted with a brilliant mural of a starry sky. There was a patio door that lead to a small balcony that overlooked some sort of garden, though a pair of sheer curtains were drawn over it now. The only other furniture in the room besides for the bed was an oaken dresser with a rectangular mirror above it. It sat on the wall to his left, the wall which held the only truly viable exit or entrance to the room.

Cecil swung his legs over the side of the bed to find that the floor was cold enough to send shivers down his spine, but the Dark Knight walked over to the mirror to examine himself regardless.

He was bedraggled in appearance, his hair a messy nest of tangles that now fell well past his shoulder blades. His face had lost the roundness he was so used to seeing, and was made of the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones now; though the skin stretched over those bones still remained as pale as it ever had been despite his days underneath the sun. His eyes, too, possessed a sort of wildness that they hadn't before, and he felt that he was staring at a wraith rather than at himself.

Despite the scruffiness of his appearance, however, he looked more rested than he had in a long time. The bags underneath his eyes had vanished, and he looked healthy, except for a new scar that ran across his abdomen on his left side and ended halfway down his hip. It was a scar he had probably incurred in the fight at the pub.

With a pang, Cecil realized he was hungry as his stomach rumbled in the deep silence of his solitude, almost startling him. He could not remember the last time he had eaten a full meal, and was debating about going to search for food despite the fact that he did not know where he was.

That was when someone opened the door and walked into the room.

Though Cecil was shocked at the sudden intrusion, and the stark white robes of the intruder, any and all thoughts disappeared as he saw the tray of food the man held in his hands. Stepping toward him, Cecil relieved him of the tray, ignoring the affronted look on the man's face. Sinking to sit on the bed, Cecil began to shovel food into his mouth, all pretense of civility forgotten in the face of sheer hunger and an ingrained survival instinct. He did not know when his next meal would come, and in order to rescue Rosa and exact revenge for Yang, Rydia, Edward and himself, he needed to -

"You really are desperate, aren't you?" asked the man who had brought the offering of food, who Cecil now recognized as the Mage who had saved him from the mob at the pub. "To eat food offered to you by someone who may very well be an enemy... I cannot imagine the conditions that would breed that sort of mindset."

Cecil swallowed and spoke, focusing his attention on the man, who appeared to be a White Mage, if his robes were to serve as any indication. "Would you have wasted your time nursing me back to health had you intended to kill me immediately after?"

The man's gray eyes widened, but he said nothing, only sat on the bed next to Cecil, though he kept his distance. "You do know where you are, don't you?"

"Of course. I'm in Mysidia," replied Cecil, returning his attention promptly to the food.

"No, I mean, yes, of course you're in Mysidia," Cecil saw the man shake his head from the corner of his eyes, "But I was wondering if you knew where, exactly, in Mysidia that this is."

Cecil had a hunch, but he didn't want it to be correct. If it were, then...

Then, truly, the gods had dealt him a cruel hand.

"This is The Tower of Prayer," said the White Mage when he did not answer. There was a long silence, and when the Mage spoke again, his voice was filled with hesitance. "What did you do with The Crystal after you took it?"

Suddenly having lost his appetite, Cecil stared at his hands, imagining that they were stained red, soaked in crimson blood. "I relinquished it to my – to the King of Baron. I do not know what happened to it. I am sorry."

The Mage stared at him, and Cecil wondered what he was thinking. "Your father?" prompted the man gently.

This time, Cecil met his gaze. "Perhaps, in another lifetime, but no longer. He now seeks my head. I'm … I tried to stop him, but as you can clearly tell, I wasn't successful."

The man's jaw had gone slack, but he recovered. "You mean the rumors of an allied Anti-Baroni Force are true? That was _you_?"

"After he sent me to Mist to raze it," Cecil said coldly, "I realized that I could no longer obey his orders, so I fled. I attempted to treat with other nations, but as I've said before, I failed."

"Then you've tried to atone," the man smiled softly, staring at his hands. "Yes, of course... It all makes sense now! Your soul, it must have never been Dark, only... only smothered. But how...?

"It doesn't matter. I failed, remember?" The Dark Knight looked away from the man, ignoring his babbling. "I know not why Baron's puppet master seeks The Crystals, and I do not care. In all honesty, it matters little." Cecil stood and placed the tray on the dresser, turning to face the Mage. "Don't you see? We're powerless, all of us, to do anything. There is no hope any longer, we can't stop him. But..." Cecil swallowed and turned to face his own reflection, feeling the Darkness churn within him. "I still must try, for Rosa, for my friends who died."

"But there must be another reason you risk your life," came the soft response.

Cecil stared at the sword on his hip. "Retribution, paid in blood, and a chance at redemption. Perhaps if I am the one to slay Golbez I will be forgiven."

The man was silent, but after a moment he placed a package next to Cecil, on top of the dresser. "Dress and then meet me outside of the door. The Elder wishes to speak with you."

Cecil did not turn to see him go, but he heard the door click.

Alone in the silence once more, Cecil untied the twine on the package and opened it, removing the garments one at a time to examine them.

Thee were a shirt, tunic, and a pair of pants of a sturdy make, but the fabric itself was light and airy, and soft to the touch. It was very different than the warm cotton garments of Baron, or the coarse weave of a desert tunic.

Removing what little was left of his old clothing, Cecil did not hesitate to dress himself and meet the Mage outside in the hall.

The man met his gaze with a wary smile, motioning for him to follow, and Cecil did as he was told.

The Tower of Prayer's design was simple, Cecil discovered as they walked down the halls, for he had never been beyond the entrance hall or The Crystal Chamber. It appeared to be built in blocks, with two long, square halls on each floor and several facilities in the center.

As they traveled away from the remotest parts of the building, Cecil also became aware that they were in a dormitory. Mages of both varieties passed them, many of their faces still adolescent. They eyed him with varying degrees of suspicion, surprise, and pity as he followed his silent escort toward some unknown destination.

Cecil really was in the midst of his enemies, surrounded by members of The Order, the ones who had protected The Crystal he had stolen. Feeling his stomach flip at the prospect of meeting The Elder, he realized that this could very well be a sentencing, though he dismissed the thought when he recalled the conversation he'd only just had. Hadn't he himself said that one would be unlikely to feed and clothe someone you intended to execute?

To calm himself, Cecil decided to try and think about his particular situation.

Mysidia was a nation of uneducated fisherman and craftsman. The country itself had nothing even resembling a military, and had been protected from foreign attack through its treaty with Baron, which had cost them their archipelago. It was rendered an important nation only because of the influence The Order of Breithe held over the academic circles of the other Great Nations, and because of The Academy of Magic in Mysidia City, but it remained economically and militarily impotent.

The Order itself was comprised of both Black and White Magi who had sworn an oath of non-violence toward Humanity. They protected The Crystal of water from threats with their very beings, and lived lives of celibacy. Free from the attachment of physical love to pursue knowledge, they were always highly educated. The Elder of The Order governed the nation of Mysidia, a nation where many people entered the service of Breithe at a young age because their parents noticed their vast magical potential. It was a practice which, at first, seemed barbaric, until one remembered that Baroni children, both male and female, began their training at a similarly young age.

This was the nation he had lead The Red Wings to attack. A nation of Magi who could not defend themselves against attack unless they were to violate a sacred religious creed. Now, he was here in their sacred Tower of Prayer, about to meet their Elder. Cecil wondered what he had done to deserve such mercy, but then thought better of it. He was so out of favor with the gods that this was likely not a mercy at all, but a burden in disguise.

At last, the Mage pushed upon a door that opened to a small room whose four walls were lined with floor to ceiling books, except for a small space that had been cleared for the light that a dusty window offered. The room smelt of paper and ink, and was filled by a large desk, cluttered with papers and more books and an overstuffed chair occupied by a man that Cecil knew to be The Elder.

He peered up at them from over a pair of thick reading glasses, and put down the book he was reading to carefully lace his fingers together. "Thank you, Xander, you're excused." He turned his perspicacious gaze on Cecil. "I believe I am correct in thinking that this young man means me no harm."

"Of course, Elder," said the White Mage softly, bowing and backing out of the doorway; he shut the door softly behind him.

"I would offer you a place to sit, but I'm afraid I have no other chairs," said The Elder, "please forgive me. It's terribly inhospitable of me." Cecil did not respond, unsure what to say now that he was here in the presence of Mysidia's ruler. "I see you've recovered quite nicely. Even with curative magic, you were a difficult one to heal, so I had my doubts you'd be able to fully recover by the time the lethargy of the sleep spell wore off."

"How long was I asleep?" asked Cecil, wondering what The Elder meant by "difficult to heal"; uncomfortable, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"About five days," said the man, looking amused at Cecil's reaction when he heard those words come from The Elder's mouth. "Relax, young man. You didn't waste away because most sleep spells slow a body's metabolism to a near stop, though you were affected quite strongly. The spell lasted longer than it should have on a man of your size," he paused. "I thought you would have known that, after putting my guards and I to sleep thirty-five days ago." To Cecil, the amount of time it had been since the raid felt both insurmountably shorter and longer than it should have. "But I digress," continued The Elder, "Xander and Derryl told me you seek use of The Devil's Road to return to Baron. May I inquire as to why?"

Cecil paced to the window, staring out at the greenery below. He temporarily lost himself in thought, but the patient gaze of The Elder prompted him to answer. "I need to commandeer an airship to rescue the woman I … To save a dear friend from the clutches of Golbez, the tyrant who controls the king."

He heard The Elder give a heavy sigh, but did not turn to look at him, in part because he was ashamed of his past deeds. "So the rumors are true, Baron _is_ being controlled. The Troian allegations are, in fact, incorrect." There was the sound of ruffling paper. "This is indeed very vexing. To think that the most powerful nation in the world has become but a marionette for a tyrant's desires..."

Cecil turned around and interrupted The Elder, feeling anxiety and impatience well up within him. "Please, allow me use of The Road! I do not have time for speculation, for every minute I waste here is another moment Rosa is in the hands of that fiend! I don't have much time left, I can't-!" Cecil cut himself off, feeling the Darkness stir deep inside of him. Grappling for control of himself, he placed his hand against one of the bookshelves and took deep, steadying breaths.

It had been this way ever since he had come to his senses on that beach. The Darkness was now deeper and more powerful than ever before, and he could feel it closing in on him every second. It wasn't like before, where he could push it from his mind if there were more pressing matters. Now he had to consciously be wary of it, to fight it back down when it flared up, searching for an opportunity to consume and control him …

"You're losing yourself," came The Elder's voice, which seized him and pulled him back to reality. "Your condition is far more advanced than I'd feared."

"Don't make me laugh, old man," he snapped, but he turned away in shame when re realized what he had said. "I'm sorry, please forgive me. I was rude. I shouldn't be so hasty, I should..." He trailed off, stopping himself from rambling on forever.

"I'm afraid that I can't allow you to travel The Devil's Road in your condition, but don't despair," he heard The Elder stand and walk to his side. "I believe you have the power to defeat this Golbez deep inside of you. Xander felt it and brought you to me, and he was right in doing so, for the Darkness that you now fight would have killed you by now, but for that power." Cecil saw his hand reach out and take a book from the shelf, and peering at The Elder from the corner of his eyes he saw a gentle smile on the man's face. "As it is now, however, this power is stifled, and you will need it if you are to fulfill your you destiny."

"My… destiny?" Cecil shook his head. "I'm just a simple Knight who once served the crown of Baron. You must be mistaken."

"I don't make mistakes when it comes to matters of cosmic importance," said The Elder, "and you shouldn't lie. Did you not introduce yourself to my guards as Cecil Harvey? That would make you Baron's Crown Prince, though not by blood, but it certainly makes you more than a mere Knight. You have a political significance that you do not begin to realize," he looked at Cecil. "Or perhaps you realize it all too well."

"That title was rescinded long ago," objected the Knight. "I am no more Prince of Baron today than I am a Paladin."

"But that could change," said The Elder, walking to his desk and sitting down. "It _will_change."

"My destiny again," said Cecil. "What must I do to get you to grant me use of The Devil's Road?"

"We will discuss that in a moment," replied The Elder. "First I would like you to do something for me."

"And what is that?" said Cecil, feeling impatience well up inside of him once more.

"Take a deep breath and calm yourself. What we are about to discuss may upset you further. I need you to remain in control of yourself."

Nodding, Cecil ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. There was a long silence, and when The Elder at last spoke, Cecil thought he was prepared for anything the man could have said.

He was wrong.

"In order to get my permission to travel The Devil's Road, you must ascend Mount Ordeals to the east and return a Paladin."

At that moment, Cecil did not know whether he wanted to laugh, scream, or cry. He settled for a feeble "Excuse me?" instead.

To become a Paladin...

It was an impossibility Cecil did not even want to fathom.

He would have to become his very antithesis, to throw away the blade that tethered him to his tenuous sanity. It truly was ludicrous to even think that _he_, a murderer and a pirate, could ever become a Holy Knight.

"You must become a Paladin," repeated The Elder softly.

Cecil asked the only thing he could think to say. "How?"

The Elder finally opened his book and leafed though the pages until he found what he sought. Clearing his throat, he read, "Upon Mount Ordeals' summit there is a sealed shrine erected by The Twin Gods. It holds the cleansing power that waits for The Hero of The Gaelach Prophecy and will open for him alone. The path, however, is fraught with peril. The bones of the mountain's numerous dead, failed heroes, lay in wait for The Chosen Hero, an undead horde prepared to impede him. Furthermore -"

Cecil, unable to take any more of this insanity, cut him off. "You think I'm some sort of hero? The Chosen One? You'd have to be out of your mind to even think … I've massacred your people! I've destroyed the village of Mist! I've turned a blind eye to The King's behavior!"

"You may laugh at me, but I know you to be The Hero, and the only way I will let you travel through The Devil's road is if you return a Paladin."

"A death sentence," spat Cecil. "A Dark Knight on a mountain filled with undead peril … Even if I were the most magnificently skilled swordsman in the world, I would stand no chance armed with the Darkness."

"A chance at salvation," corrected The Elder patiently, "and I have thought of that. I will send my two finest trainees with you to serve as guides. We use Mount Ordeals as a training ground, though we do not travel to the peak, it's far too perilous. I believe they will be of use to you."

Knowing The Elder would not change his mind, and knowing that he longed to see Rosa safe once more, Cecil resolved to do as the man asked. Perhaps when he returned, still a Dark Knight, the old man would allow him to travel The Road. First, however, he had a question. "Why do you believe I am your Chosen One?"

"That is a difficult thing to answer," The Elder pursed his lips. "It is, in part, because of the incredible power Xander and I both sense within you. However, I believe you are special in other ways, as well. You seem to fit the description of The Hero, however brief that description may be. And, most telling, you seem to be the least likely candidate," said The Elder mysteriously. "Those who hold the weight of destiny upon their shoulders seldom appear to be great men, at first. It is only through trial that they come into their true selves, and that is why you must scale Mount Ordeals to become a Paladin."

Cecil closed his eyes once more, and though he did not know why, a sort of hope welled up within him, frail and strange. "I will scale your mountain. I must save Rosa, and," he took a shuddering breath, "if this mountain really can redeem me as you say, then maybe … Maybe I can truly do something to end this instead of throwing my live away to slay Golbez."

"Very well. Go rest, Sir Cecil. I will make the preparations. You leave on the morrow."

Not once did Cecil think to ask just what it was he was destined to do.

Intermission

The next morning began early for Cecil, who was woken shortly after dawn with a rude shake from the female Black Mage. She grumbled something incoherent, motioned to a pile of leather armor on the floor, and ordered him to come outside once he had finished equipping himself.

The mailable leather plates were easier to equip than his usual fare, but they worried him. He was concerned that they would not provide adequate protection, and that the mobility they provided him would not be enough to compensate for it. His ruin may yet be smote upon Mount Ordeals.

The Black Mage took him to The Elder in the main hall, who was waiting, staff in hand. He appeared to be alone, so Cecil wondered where his promised Magi were, though he held in his hand a large, brown satchel that Cecil suspected to be filled with much needed supplies.

"I assume you didn't mind being woken so early," said The Elder in a surprisingly conversational tone.

Cecil half shrugged and responded, "The Red Wings began drills before dawn on a majority of days. As far as I'm concerned, I've slept in."

"So you're pirates who rise early," snorted his escort derisively.

"You may insult me, but leave my men out of this. I lead them to murder, so the blame falls upon my shoulders alone," Cecil could feel the Darkness seethe at her, whispering to him words of death and bloodshed. "And in any case, I am certain The Red Wings as I knew them are no more."

"You're certainly a polite bastard, I'll give you that," she replied. "Slaughter with a smile," she snorted. "And what do you mean 'The Red Wings are no more'? They've been running around and bombing people, haven't they?"

"Derryl," said the voice of the White Mage; Cecil started, he had not even realized that the man was here. "Please be more polite to our guest."

"Golbez," said Cecil in way of an answer. "He's taken over Baron. That man has taken everything I've ever cared about. He's turned one of my best friends against me, spirited the other away, and killed my other companions. I was helpless to stop him then, just as I was helpless as I watched Mist burn, and was too helpless to protect the Fire and Wind Crystals."

"That is why you must journey to Mount Ordeals," said The Elder. "Where are those two? I told them to be there thirty minutes ago ..."

At that moment, the doors at the end of the grand hall banged open, and two Magi entered, one being dragged by his collar by the other. They could not be any older than twelve, and Cecil realized with a shock that these twins (they must be, for they greatly resembled one another) were to accompany him.

Had The Elder lost his mind? Children had no place on a battlefield! He had learned his lesson with Rydia; never again would he put the life of someone so young in danger.

"Please Elder, allow me to apologize," said the one who was doing the dragging. Her voice was sweet, soft, and mature, but her pale blue eyes were full of reproach. "I caught Palom goofing-off again. It was as if he forgot our appointment with you, but I can't imagine-!"

Her eyes lighted upon his form, and her lips formed a subtle 'o' shape. Suddenly, she bowed, pulling her brother with her. He let a strangled yelp and almost dragged them both to the floor, but he managed to regain his balance in time. "You must be Sir Harvey, Dark Knight of Baron. I'm Porom, a White Mage under The Elder's instruction, and I'll be serving you as a guide to Mount Ordeals. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"... Yes, I'm pleased as well," Cecil said lamely as they rose; Porom smiled, but her brother stood, arms crossed over his chest, looking generally displeased.

Porom glanced at him, frowned in a way that seemed odd in a twelve year old's face, and proceeded to smack him with all her might. "Palom, introduce yourself properly!"

He rubbed his head, cast her a positively scathing look, and then placed both hands on his hips. "Hello, mage-murdering Baroni Barbarian, I am Palom, Mysidia's most esteemed magical prodigy! You'd best be grateful that I'm deigning to take time out of my busy schedule to assist you!"

She smacked him again. "Please forgive my brother, Sir Harvey. I'm afraid he was dropped on his head one too many times as a small child."

"Hey! That's _not_ true!" He objected, and even Cecil had to admit that their antics did much to lighten his heart.

The Elder cleared his throat, and even Palom snapped to attention, though he was red in the face. "This will serve as a training exercise for you Palom, so you'd best take it seriously," he advised, then he turned to Cecil. "They may be young, but they have much promise. Please take good care of them."

Realizing he had no choice but to take them, Cecil vowed to protect them with his life and stepped forward to take the satchel from The Elder. "I thank you, and I promise you I will watch over them."

"Return to us as a Paladin," The Elder replied and wished them well; Cecil began to walk away.

"Are you coming?" he turned around when he realized that Palom and Porom were not following him; the two exchanged surprised glances and dashed to catch up with him.

As they walked through the streets of Mysidia City, the twins remained silent, but as row after row of building gave way to shrubbery and ruin, they began to speak.

"Do you people in Baron _really_train with swords from the time you're born?" asked Palom lazily as he meandered along behind Cecil, his arms behind his head.

Cecil laughed in spite of himself. "That's impossible. Weapons training begins at age five in Baron. By age ten, you're expected to have chosen what branch of the military you want to enlist in, or you could default and become a civilian. After you chose, you go to the respective academy to learn how to fight."

Porom looked appalled. "But that's terrible! Who would give five year old children dangerous weapons?"

Cecil thought of asking her who would let twelve year old children go to a zombie plagued mountain, but he knew it was simply the Darkness inside him flaring up again. "We don't allow the younglings to use actual weapons," Cecil said quickly. "They train with wooden practice blades, small wooden staffs, and shoot arrows without tips. It's not until you enter an academy that you begin to train with actual weapons."

"So you went to school to become a Dark Knight?" Palom eyed his sword curiously. "Isn't that kind of weird?"

Before he could answer, Porom mused. "Yes, I, too, find it strange. Don't they know about the Darkness in Baron?"

"We understand the implications of our actions, if that's what you're asking. Dark Knights are few, and we serve as commanders, or in the elite unit. Most of us avoid having families because we know how dangerous our blades are, but some of us eventually marry and have children. Those men lock their swords away at night. They're… not like me. They can break away from their Darkness, if only while they sleep." Cecil looked away from their innocent faces. "In any case, I didn't chose this path, it chose me. Originally, I was training to become a Red Shirt," he looked back to them and realized he would have to clarify. "Red Shirts are the guards inside Baron Castle. The Blue Shirts are the King's Personal Guard. Black Shirts are Dark Knights. White Shirts are Red Wings."

"So let me get this straight; The _Red_Wings wear _white _shirts?" Palom asked. "And you_wanted_ to be a grunt? How in the world did you end up as Captain of The Red Wings, then?"

"The armor is Red, as are the ships in the fleet," said Cecil.

He was glad to see that they were nearly out of the city; at least traveling would give him something to with his hands. It may even keep his mind off of the Darkness, though the chances were slim.

"You didn't answer my other question," said Palom, prodding the Dark Knight's side with his finger. "How'd you get to be a big shot if you only wanted to do grunt work?"

Cecil hesitated, but he answered anyway, "I was appointed by The King at age eighteen after the previous Lord Captain resigned."

A look of deep concern passed over Porom's face, but she did not voice her thoughts.

"Wait,_eighteen_? How old _are_you?"

Cecil frowned deeply. "I'm twenty."

"Isn't that a bit _young_ for a Captain? I mean, I'm Mysidian, but even I know that Baroni Captains are all a bunch of crusty old guys." He gave Cecil an odd look and then shook his head, his voice disbelieving. "I can't believe you're the guy who killed all of those people!"

"Were you appointed because of your father's influence? Because he's the King of Baron?" Porom asked, chewing her bottom lip.

"Wait, you're a _prince_?" Palom looked indignant. "Man, some guys have all the luck!"

"He's not my father. I am an orphan," Cecil said stonily; he was sick of the assumptions, of having to explain that the name was a gift. "I have no parents."

He saw the twins exchange another look, and began to feel wary. Something told him he would come to dislike these sibling exchanges.

"So you're just like us," said Palom. "Here I thought you were someone cool, but you're just a normal guy."

"Like us?" It seemed it was Cecil's turn to ask questions.

"Of course. We're orphans, too. Father was a fisherman, killed at sea, and mother was a sickly woman," said Porom softly, "she went into labor and it killed her."

"I am truly sorry," replied the Dark Knight with sympathy.

"It doesn't matter. We never knew her anyway," Palom shrugged, then he ran ahead, walking backwards in front of them. "We can't remember anything about either of our parents. We were raised inside The Order, right sis?" He looked momentarily thoughtful. "What about you, Cecil?"

Porom frowned at him disapprovingly. "Palom, stop that this instant! You'll hurt yourself, and we can't afford to waste healing supplies because you were acting the idiot!"

"Whatever, Porom, you're a White Mage. Like we even _need_those healing supplies..."

Palom's query forgotten in their bickering, Cecil was left alone with his thoughts.

It was true that he had no memories of his mother, only the ring he could feel laying against the skin of his chest even now, but he thought he may have one, foggy memory of his father. The memory, if it even deserved to be called such, was not a complicated image, it was simply of a pale haired man with dark eyes smiling down at him and laughing. The man, he thought, looked like him, but the memory was indistinct, so he could not be sure.

Despite the happiness of it, however, the image had always burdened him, for he felt deep down inside that he still had living relatives and wondered why they had not searched for him. It was the superstition of every orphan that their family would someday return for them, but Cecil held no longing or affection for the man in his memories, a man who very well may have abandoned him.

He had always been self-sufficient, and he didn't plan on changing that any time soon.

The rest of the day went by without a hitch, and the trio set up camp beneath the stars in a wide open field. They ate a small meal of dry rations and then retired for the night, though Cecil thought to take watch.

Palom fell asleep almost instantly, ending his near constant stream of inane chatter, but Cecil could hear that Porom lay awake from the irregular sound of her breathing.

"Is there something on your mind?" he asked her at last, though he couldn't clearly see her through the blaze of the flame.

"Why do you want to use The Devil's Road?" she asked, her voice frail in the vast darkness of the wilderness.

"There is someone I must protect," he replied, "someone whom I failed to protect before. I will not fail again."

"You love her, don't you?"

Cecil, caught off guard, felt the familiar burden of his feelings pull at his heart.

Rosa...

His feelings for her were so complicated. Of course he longed for her, she was an easy woman to desire, and he admired and cherished so many things about her. It was also true that the very idea of her being with another man bothered him. It wasn't just her giving away her body to another, however, he didn't think he could bear to watch her vow her loyalty and love to another, not even if she were to vow it to Kain.

"Cecil?" Porom's voice drifted through his thoughts, its kindness almost startling him.

"I have to save her. I … I don't want to … I can't let her go," he looked down at Porom's dim shape. "Wait, how did you know my friend was a woman, I never said-"

She cut him off with a giggle. "It's written all over your face. I've seen that look before, and I know what it means. You didn't have to say it for me to know."

He looked down at his hands, and said it aloud, for the first time. "I love her."

"I'm certain she must know," said Porom. "The way you look when you think about her is a dead give away, so I'm certain she knows." She sighed. "I'm glad that's your reason. I'm glad you're motivated by love, not by revenge."

It wasn't long before Porom, too, had drifted off to sleep and Cecil was left alone beneath a vast canopy of stars with only his thoughts to keep him company.

She didn't know, but love and revenge both motivated him. He wanted to kill Golbez with his own two hands, and welcomed the hatred that slid down his spine. Golbez … it was all his fault, and he would pay for his crimes with his live. Cecil would have his retribution, Cecil would have his justice, and it would be paid in blood.

Far to the east, the silent black shape of Mount Ordeals hung like an ominous cloud, awaiting The Hero, who now unwittingly traveled toward his destiny.


	13. Eleven: Mount Ordeals

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Eleven: Mount Ordeals

The shape of the colossal Mount Ordeals loomed ever larger on the horizon, now more than a spectral promise of an ominous trial. Mount Ordeals was very much real, a land mass made of rugged rock that rose into the billowing white of the clouds. It loomed, ever present on the horizon, a sign of pain and suffering to come.

Cecil stood atop a stony outcrop, sword in hand, overlooking the last two miles of landscape. It was a barren land that he saw, beyond the deep darkness of a forest more ancient and threatening than any forest in Baron had ever seemed. Behind him lay countless miles, but his journey had really only just begun, for the flat landscape ahead soon gave way to the slopes of the mountain. Palom and Porom scrambled after him, pulling themselves up to stand next to the Dark Knight, who sheathed his sword and threw their satchel over his shoulder once more.

"So, what do you see?" asked Palom, craning his neck to look around Cecil, his blue eyes full of curiosity.

"I see the howling wilderness," said Cecil, "and our imminent destination. By my best estimations, we'll be there long before dusk today."

"Really?" Palom gave him a skeptical look. "How can you tell?"

"It was one of the things I learned at the Academy," replied Cecil. "It has to do with land marks and their apparent distances from you. It's a very simple trick to master, if you're interested."

"I'll take your word for it," said the young mage.

The trio had been traveling together for a total of six days now, and Cecil had grown quite fond of the twins. He had found that Porom was a cheerful young girl with an insight that most grown people did not posses; though she often required coaxing to speak. She was kind and devoted to her religion and her family, and he had seen how powerful her magic was on several occasions. Palom was spirited and a bit rough around the edges, and thus required a firm hand, but that was the way of most boys his age. Though he seemed haughty at first glace, he too was very kind, but Cecil suspected he would leave The Order once he reached adulthood; he was too free a spirit to be cloistered by their strict laws.

"You're certain we're that near?"

Cecil turned to Porom, smiling at her and nodding. "Yes, and thankfully our supplies haven't run thin. I'd had my worries."

"Well, we should get going," Palom began to hop down the slope one rock at a time, like he was playing some sort of game. "I want to get back to Mysidia City before I'm forty, just so you know."

"Be more respectful of Sir Cecil! He _is_ a Knight of Baron, after all, _and_ our elder!" called Porom after him, beginning her own, painstaking descent.

Cecil sighed and hiked the bag further up on his shoulder, starting off after them.

The day had risen clear, and Cecil had been grateful to see the sky for the first time in two days after traveling through the twilight world of a dense forest. The cloudless blue sky expanded in all directions, except for the ominous embankment that hung over the peak of the not-so-distant mountain. The clear day did nothing to stay the feeling deep within the pit of Cecil's stomach, however. He could only wonder at the trials that awaited him at its precipice, beyond the forlorn trail that surely awaited him.

The young Dark Knight blinked into the sunlight that streamed from the east, feeling his anxiety steadily grown. It had been on his mind for awhile now, but he wondered how a mountain filled with Death and Darkness had the power to redeem him. He could only imagine, and with great uncertainty, the type of suffering the mythical transformation could entail.

It wasn't long before Cecil had once again taken the lead of their little party, leaning on over a decade of training to navigate the tricky terrain with relative ease. Palom had taken up his almost endless stream of bragging, detailing his heroic exploits with what was certain to be a great deal of embellishment, and Porom had taken on her usual air of silent contemplation. So Cecil, with only the echo of his own doubt to keep him company, lead his company to the base of the mountain.

Never once did Cecil have to look back to be sure that the twins were still with him. It was one of the things he appreciated most about the siblings. Never once had he needed to wait for them or to rest more than seemed absolutely necessary. It had made their journey move far more quickly than it would have had they been normal twelve year-olds. The Elder had certainly known what he was doing when he'd sent them to accompany him, however their youth still deeply bothered him. If anything were to happen to them, he would never forgive himself.

Walking along, Cecil's mind began to wander to his past.

When he had been their age, he had been training in Vangrad to become a member of the Royal Guard. Advanced for one so young, he had been put at the head of a sparring group for the year ahead of him, and he remembered that it had caused a great deal of grief with the others. Used to harassment by his piers, Cecil had hardened himself to their taunts and worked even harder, spending every school break with his two best friends, Kain and Rosa. Not everyone was so used to the torment, however, or perhaps they just had more of a fighting spirit.

He could remember clearly when he first met Kalintha Monroe, a young woman who had been forced into the service by extenuating circumstances. Usually, women weren't allowed to serve in the capacity of a fighter, so her presence there had confused him, until he remembered that her elder brother had died in combat with the Troians and her sister had disappeared. She was her father's only heir, and it was suspected that she was a lovechild, the result of her father's brief foray in Troia. The result of her unique situation was far from satisfactory.

Physically weaker than the boys, but with a higher pain threshold, she frequently had bruises and scrapes. There were times when she was hurt so badly she looked like she would cry, but she always stayed in classes and never gave up, even though the practice weapons were sometimes too heavy for her. Cecil was one of the only people who stood up for her because he understood how she felt. He, too, had always been an outsider, a freak of nature, a brat who didn't deserve the breaks he had been given.

Their treatment of her became worse when she began to develop physically, but still she held her head high, spending her days in Academy with Cecil and the other few who identified themselves as outcasts; generally the children of farmers, for it was usually the sons of townsmen who enlisted. No matter what, though, she always fought back, and eventually she reached a break through one day long before their fifteenth year. She had adapted her style to her body, and quickly became very adept with a short sword, even to the point that she could defeat many of the more skilled cadets their age in combat. She had survived in a group of trainees who were known to be more relentless than any of the trainees for the other units.

Reminded of Kali, Cecil realized that her strength was a testament to the strength of children everywhere, and that he shouldn't continue to coddle the twins just because of their youth. The Elder wouldn't have sent them if he hadn't been absolutely certain that they would come back alive, though it certainly didn't mean Cecil would cease protecting them.

"So, do you think I'll get to light a zombie on fire?" he heard Palom ask his sister hopefully.

"Why would you want to light the undead on fire?" she retorted. "The burning flesh would smell to high heaven!"

"Probably not any worse than a normal dead person would," argued her brother sagely; Cecil wondered if he had ever smelt burning flesh before.

Shaking his head, the Dark Knight decided to interject. "Fire is said to be effective on the undead," he said, recalling something that the Black Magi of Baron had once told him. "All smells aside, if you can cast a fire spell, I would suggest using it."

The young mage grinned, "You see, sis, Cecil says it's okay if I set the zombies on fire!"

Porom cast Cecil a look that clearly said "Don't encourage him."

Chuckling in amusement, Cecil returned his attention to navigating the tricky terrain.

Before long, they stood at the base of a craggy, narrow path that was the beginning of their perilous ascent up Mount Ordeals. Here, their progress slowed as they struggled up the slope, slowly rising over the vast Mysidian wilderness. Soon, however, their trek was met by resistance.

The heat alerted Cecil to its presence first, holding out his arm to stop the twins. A pillar of fire rose into the air to brush the azure heavens, its tongues licking the air and spitting heat so intense that Cecil felt it singe the hairs on the back of his neck.

It reminded him of Mist so long ago, when he had first set out on his journey with the intent of stopping Baron in their conquest of the Crystals. In fact, it seemed fire followed him everywhere; the fire in Saffrom, the attack on Fabul, even here, to this forlorn mountain in the middle of the wilderness. It was almost funny how his quest, one that had inadvertently begun in Mysida with the raining of fire, had since come full circle.

"Palom, would you do the honors?" Porom asked, and he turned his gaze toward Palom, who for once had his eyes closed in concentration.

The air about them suddenly became cold, sending chills down Cecil's spine. Somehow, it became heavier as the dim blue glow between Palom's hands grew to a brilliant auroral shine. At once, the energy sped from between the mage's hands, hanging like a dark cloud over the fire until it burst, raining rainbow colored shards of ice upon the flames. Flames that hissed in protest as they died, becoming nothing more than steam rising to the vast blue expanse of the sky.

"And that's how it's done!" bragged Palom, who was quickly smacked by his sister.

"Palom!" she scolded. "The Elder is always telling us to be humble!" After a moment, however, the zeal from her eyes faded, replaced by an air of serious contemplation. "This bothers me. There's not supposed to be something like this here. It's almost as if someone is trying to stop people from climbing the mountain."

"Maybe that's just cuz it's dangerous for normal people," said her brother, but Porom shook her head and gave voice to Cecil's own suspicions.

"No. The spell is too dangerous, and besides, it would take an incredible stamina to maintain; no_normal_ person would be able to muster that kind of strength." She crossed her arms over her chest. "If that's just a warning to travelers, I can't imagine what horrors await those who actually attempt to ascend to the peak."

"So? It's not like we can turn around now," Palom said. "And I'm sure we can handle whatever comes our way!"

Though Cecil wasn't nearly so confident, he acknowledged that he had no choice.

Drearily, the three continued their slow climb to the peak.

Intermission

The halls of the great fortress were dark and silent, their smooth metal gleaming in the harsh, electronic lights that lined the dark walls. No light penetrated the impersonal and cruel corridors, home to demons of the deep, monsters with unknown and terrible powers.

Home to Golbez.

Golbez walked through the vast, empty halls of his fortress, his black cloak swirling about him as he strode down the corridor toward the single door at its end. He was unaccompanied, though he was far from alone, his tyrannical and terrifying servants stalking the nightmarish tower.

At last he arrived at his destination, the smooth, dark door rising noiselessly at his arrival.

The lights from the cold, inhuman machines reflected off of his black armor, the stars of a distant and unfamiliar galaxy. His footsteps echoed as he advanced through the vacuous chamber, the sound of his breathing filling his own ears.

At the end of the room there was a space occupied by the Dragon Knight and his favorite hostage. The woman was strung up by her wrists, tied to the wall, on which was fastened a sinister crescent blade that hung just over her head, gleaming like a crooked smile.

All at once, he stopped his advance, staring into the eyes of the blonde woman, whose jaw still held strength and defiance. She was every bit as stubborn as her lover, a resilient flower that bloomed even in the darkness, a flower he would enjoy crushing.

"I see you're doing well," he commented drolly. "Your Knight searches for you. It gladdens me. It saves me the trouble of having to kill you separately."

"You can't defeat Cecil," she said. "He's more of a man than you could ever hope to be."

Golbez laughed deeply, smiling darkly from within the shadows of his helm. "Oh, my dear, sweet girl," he said, placing his hand of the side of her face, "do you really think a weak and useless tool of the Darkness can defeat the Master of Darkness himself?"

She flinched at his touch, but did not break eye contact. "I know Cecil, and he won't let you defeat him."

Golbez laughed again, but his mirth was interrupted by a familiar low hiss. Releasing the defiant rose, he turned to stare down at an unassuming form below. "What is it?" he asked darkly, displeased at being interrupted.

The creature, a slouched form that wore what looked like a ratty burlap sack that hung from its bony wrists, gargled its response. "Milord, the Harvey boy hasss reached Mount Ordealssss."

Golbez could feel shock and anger rumble through his being as this information was imparted upon him. How was this possible? After all of his careful planning, that cursed Dark Knight had still arrived at the one place that held the power to defeat him! How could the Light still be so powerful when it had all but remained silent for the last five years, when he had all but crushed it beneath his boot heel? Remaining composed despite the battle that raged inside of him, he replied. "And has he passed the barrier?"

"Yesss, milord," the creature bowed low, and Golbez could smell the deep stench of rotting flesh. Its globular yellow eyes gleamed at him from underneath the hem of its hood. "What are your orderssss?"

He took a deep breath and turned away from his servant, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I trust you will be able to eliminate him?"

"It will be nothing for Sssscarmiglione. Certainly, hisss ruin will be ssssmote upon the mountainsssside," came the rasping response.

"Very well, I will leave it to you, then. Do not fail me."

"Wait!"

Golbez turned his gaze to Kain, feeling the man's hatred and desperation bubble up. "Please, Master Golbez, allow me the chance to slay Cecil. I-!"

"When you have failed me once already, Kain?" Golbez snorted. "Be grateful I did not take your head when you failed to defeat him in Fabul." He turned his gaze once more to Rosa, who was glowering at him from beneath her sun-spun bangs. "In fact, I was even so kind to allow you to guard our most esteemed guest. No. I will leave Cecil's execution to men more skilled than you, though I wish I could do the deed myself. Unfortunately, Mount Ordeals is sacred ground, protected from my grasp."

Kain's face, Golbez saw, had turned pale, and he had stepped back into his place, becoming silent and stationary once more. Scarmiglione had long departed, on his way to Mount Ordeals.

For a long moment, Golbez stared at Kain and his captive, allowing the silence to rise up and consume him. He wanted, more than anything, for his lieutenant to return carrying Cecil's broken body in his arms. Then, he wanted to parade it to every kingdom for every single person on the planet to see, to prove to the populace that their savior was dead. Once the Dark Knight was dead, once his body was broken and bleeding, displayed for the world to see, then Golbez would truly be able to complete his mission. No one could stand in his way.

"Cecil won't lose to your monsters, Golbez," said the woman coldly.

"Lieutenant Scarmiglione is one of the undead," Golbez informed her. "Your Cecil is a Dark Knight. His blade will not pierce Scarmiglione's undead flesh." he smiled once more, feeling savage and powerful in a way that he hadn't in a very long time. "Though it pains me to say it, my dear, dear Rosa, your brave and peerless knight will die."

"You're wrong," she said, but he could see that some of the light had drained from her eyes.

Satisfied, he turned to go.

"We will see, flower of Baron, we will see."

Somewhere in the world, fate at last stirred, flying on silent wings.

Intermission

Cecil was grateful that he wasn't wearing full body armor by the time the sun was at its highest point in the sky, beating down on his back. He felt sluggish and weak, though the twins seemed unaffected, for they inexhaustibly climbed and jumped their way over the rocks that littered their already treacherous path. The Dark Knight deeply suspected that his fatigue had more to do with the nature of the mountain than simple exhaustion. He felt the steady pulsations of a Light that grew more powerful the higher they climbed.

The mountain itself was a bleak place that held no hint of green or life, only tan and black rocks and dirt for as far as the eye could see, towering ever upward to the lofty heavens.

The farther they went up its face, the more Cecil wondered at the futility of this quest.

"How much further up do we have to climb?" complained Palom loudly to anyone who would listen.

"As far as it takes," replied Porom more politely than Cecil could have managed in his current state of mind. "The point of Mount Ordeals is to present a trial to the Chosen Hero; you know that."

Cecil sighed and pulled himself up over a ledge, holding his hands out to the Magi below to help pull them up one at a time.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," sighed the black mage. Suddenly, he perked up. "Say, Cecil, what did you say to convince The Elder that you were The Hero who was supposed to climb the mountain?"

"Nothing, to my knowledge," replied Cecil, "but why do you ask?"

"Usually, people come asking to be taken to Mount Ordeals," explained Porom for her pouting brother. "The Elder never let a single one of them try before you came along."

"Well, I suppose I'm just lucky," said Cecil dryly, choking down a surge of bitter Darkness. "It seems I have the unfortunate tendency to attract people who send me on quests of self-discovery."

"It can't be all that bad," said Palom. "As far as I figure, you've got it good."

"And how do you figure that?" Cecil glanced backwards at the youth, running his hand through his hair.

"Heroes get all the chicks."

"Palom!" a smack rang out, and Cecil chuckled, but his mirth did not last.

Rising from the earth, staring with dead gray eyes that could not see, was a creature with shredded and bloated flesh. Its jaw hung from its face, dangling from a lone piece of flesh and it smelled overwhelmingly of death and rot. Making a half muffled moaning noise, it lumbered toward its intended victims with an awkward limp.

"Palom, Porom, get behind me!" Shouted Cecil, drawing his blade.

"Got it, boss!" he heard Palom chorus as the corpse swung its arms forward, grunting.

Digging his heels into the ground, Cecil parried the blow, forcing the creature backwards. Unable to feel pain, however, and with no instinct for self-preservation, it continued its steady advance, still moaning. Lashing out with a flick of his wrist, Cecil attacked the beast, but to no avail, for his blade hit the undead flesh and slid clean through, the beast continuing its advance undeterred.

Hissing, Cecil danced to the left and the beast followed, making a guttural noise. Reduced to little more than a human meat shield, Cecil could do nothing more than serve as a distraction.

At last, fire rained from above, setting the monster ablaze in brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows. It writhed, but continued to move forward, black smoke billowing toward the sky. It soon slowed, and Cecil could see its remaining flesh melt, falling from its bones in burning chunks. At last it disintegrated, seeming to crumble to dust before their eyes, nothing more than embers floating in the wind.

"Cecil, are you hurt?" Porom asked, and the Dark Knight turned to her.

"No, I'm fine," he closed his eyes and sighed. "We should keep moving. I want to find a safe place to rest before nightfall."

The twins nodded, though from the look they shared, Cecil guessed they were concerned.

Were Cecil to be honest with himself, it did bother him that he couldn't be of more use here on this cursed mountain. On the journey here he had served as an invaluable member of their party, but here he was rendered weak and useless, all his years of training suddenly pointless. His Darkness could not harm creatures who were beyond death's long shadow, corpses that had been animated using forbidden magic. He was as harmless as a babe, his power rendered obsolete, his strength ever waning just because of the Light that he felt penetrating his limbs even now. Combined with the painful burden that shackled his soul, and Cecil might as well not be there for all the good he would do. It seemed the Dark Knight of Baron would have to rely on two young Mysidian Magi for his survival.

Cecil wondered how different his life would have been if he had never touched the Dark Blade in his fifteenth year. Perhaps he would have wed Rosa and become Baigan's First Lieutenant in the Royal Guard, living in the peace and anonymity he had always longed for. Yet deep down Cecil knew that he couldn't have been truly happy if he had never flown with The Red Wings, for it had always been his lifelong dream. It was the same part of him that acknowledged that his path had been chosen for him, though he was reluctant to admit that it was, indeed, his fate to be upon this mountain while Rosa suffered.

Still, there was no point in thinking of could-have-beens; it was something he had learned long ago, though his own advice was getting progressively more difficult to follow. He must accomplish the task at hand to save Rosa, no matter where it lead him.

The day wore on, and they faced many more enemies, Cecil serving as bait each time. The twins fought admirably, though Cecil could see fatigue in the lines of their faces by the time the sun showed red in the west. At last, they made camp beneath a small, rocky, overpass.

Cecil wandered away from the twins, leaving them in the protective glow of the fire. Surveying the landscape below, he marveled at just how far they had come. Beneath him spread an entire world, bathed in waning scarlet rays of sunlight. It was a breathtaking world, full of green forests and sparkling blue water; a world that Cecil suddenly felt was very fragile indeed, though he wasn't certain of the origin of the feeling. Perhaps it was because the world seemed so distant, for being up here reminded him of just how small the world seemed from an airship. Or perhaps he felt it because of his own helplessness to save anyone he cared about from danger and death. Whatever the reason, the effect it had was the same, leaving Cecil staring breathlessly at the world he'd left behind to scale this mountain.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Cecil started, having forgotten he wasn't completely alone in the world. Shaking himself, he nodded in the direction of Porom, who now stood beside him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"When Palom and I were little," continued Porom as she sat beside him, staring into the distance, "The Elder used to tell us stories about his days as a novice in The Order. Back then, there was peace in the realm, but he said there was still a sense of adventure in the air. When he was young, he traveled all over the world, meeting different people and learning all about the Great Nations. He told us that this was a beautiful world, a great world to live in, and that we had to take care of it." She sighed wistfully. "Up here, away from all of humanity's problems, I can see what he meant."

The Dark Knight stared at her for a long moment, then answered. "I've seen much of the world myself, but I suppose I've never really looked at it. I've always been too caught up in my own dramas to pay attention to the world around me."

Porom laughed, "I know just how you feel." She pulled her knees to her chest, her eyes becoming distant, and Cecil almost forgot she was still just a child. "I get so caught up in life I neglect to stop and take in the world around me, and that's something that's important for a White Mage to do."

"It's important for anyone," said Cecil, "but it's hard to keep perspective."

The young woman glanced up at him. "You know, you're different than I thought you'd be." There was a silence, and Cecil waited patiently for her to continue speaking. "Back in Mysidia, people talk about the Baroni people as if they're just big, dumb, smelly, drunks, and you're always said to be the biggest, dumbest, smelliest, and drunkest of them all." She looked away from him, her eyes returning to the endless sea of trees. "But you're not like that at all. You're quiet and kind. Certainly, you're a deep thinker, and I think you might be a bit sad, too."

He sat beside her, watching the last few clouds that floated aimlessly through the darkening violet and red hues of the twilit sky. Looking at her, he wondered what she was thinking beyond that impossibly wizened blue gaze.

"Why did you kill all those people?" she asked in a voice so small it was almost lost in the breeze. "What were you thinking?"

Caught off guard and unsure how to answer, he simply concentrated on his hands, contemplating her questions. After a very long time deep in thought, long enough for the sky to darken to indigo and the first stars to be joined by their countless brothers, Cecil finally had his answer.

"When you spend your entire life in the care of another, you would do anything to keep your peace of mind and sense of security, especially when you know that what you have does not rightfully belong to you. Thomas Harvey was the only home I have ever known, can ever remember, and I didn't want to lose that home. That fear drove me to murder," unable to bear the sight of his own hands any longer, he turned his eyes to the sky. "That isn't justification for my actions, but it is a reason. I could think only of myself at that time, only think of how unbearable it would be if I lost everything I had ever cared about. But when those people sacrificed themselves for that Crystal, I came to realize that I was putting my own needs above the needs of my country and my people; yet I was unable to overcome that weakness."

There was another long pause in which the sound of her soft breathing seemed to fill Cecil's ears, filling him with the weight of condemnation. He expected the tears in her eyes when she at last turned her face to look at him, but her words cut him deeply, despite their inherent kindness. "You've been suffering too, haven't you?"

Unable to answer, Cecil stood. "We should try to get some rest. We'll need all the strength we can muster if we're to make it to the peak tomorrow."

"Okay," replied the White Mage, "but that means you, too. Let Palom and I exchange the watch tonight."

As much as the idea pained Cecil, he was forced to acknowledge that he was not an effective means of defense upon this mountain, and so he conceded. His concession won him about four hours of uneasy sleep and a dawn ushered in by the undead.

After the skirmish, the three set off again, nibbling on the dry rations they still had in their pack.

It wasn't long before Cecil found Palom at his side, chattering conversationally.

"So, Cecil, what brings you to Mysida anyway?"

"I was shipwrecked," replied the Knight. "We were on our way to Baron to commandeer an airship when we were attacked by a giant sea serpent. To my knowledge I am the only survivor." The words almost burned his throat; even now, his failure of Yang, Edward and Rydia was painful to admit.

Palom's eyes widened. "Man, that sucks." He leaned back, placing his arms behind his head in a gesture that had already become familiar to the Dark Knight. "It's probably a good thing you survived. From what The Elder said about you, its sounded like you're one of those important chumps. Not that it has anything to do with me; I'm just your esteemed guide!"

Cecil smiled, but he shook his head. "I still think it's a case of mistaken identity."

"Dude," Palom eyed him, "The Elder _doesn't _make mistakes. Even _I_ know that, and I'm more interested in girls than Magic." He suddenly paused and looked away, his face tinged a bit red, if Cecil wasn't mistaken. "Er, don't tell anyone I said that, okay? It would make me look really bad." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, like I was saying, if The Elder says you're an important guy, then you are."

"Still, I can't help but feel wary about this situation. Men like myself … We aren't exactly the material that Paladins are made of."

"It doesn't matter what you _feel_, you're still-!"

But Palom was cut off by a war cry as a long, crooked staff came flying through the air. Cecil caught it between his palms, pushing their attacker off balance. When his vision cleared, however, he could see a pile of magenta robes and a familiar chaotic white beard.

"Tellah!" exclaimed Cecil, offering the old Sage a hand, which the old man took, to his supreme surprise.

"Cecil! It's good to see you, lad!" The old man clasped Cecil heartily on the back. "Means I'm right about this mountain!"

"What do you mean?" asked Cecil, unsurprised at Tellah's warm greeting. "I sense the Light, of course, but-"

"Meteo!" The old man said, throwing his hands into the air in clear exasperation. "It's a sealed spell, forbidden magic strong enough to slay Golbez, and it's the reason I'm here."

"Excuse me, but are you perhaps_Sage _Tellah?" interjected Porom. "I mean no disrespect, but that spell could kill you, are you sure you want to master it?"

"I have no idea who you are, young lady, but I know for certain that I _need_ that spell. That Golbez fiend killed my daughter, and I _will_ return the favor! My own life means nothing if I sacrifice it to take his!"

Cecil understood the zeal in Tellah's eyes. He would do anything to save Rosa, even if that meant he would forfeit his own life; which was a very distinct possibility, given the current set of circumstances.

"So _you're_ the great Tellah?" Cecil looked to Palom, who stood with his hands on his hips, one of his eyebrows cocked in skepticism. "Isn't that kind of thinking a bit immature for an old guy?"

Porom's resulting smack resounded down the mountainside. "Palom, how dare you open your mouth! You're the most immature of those of us here!"

While Palom rubbed his head and grumbled his protest, Tellah turned his attention to Cecil. "What interesting children," he mused. "Tell me, did you manage to save your friend from their bout with Desert Fever?"

"I did, but …," he paused hesitantly. "Rosa has fallen captive to Golbez."

"Is that his girlfriend?" he heard Palom hiss, but Porom's consequent glare was enough to silence him.

"Then you seek this mountain's power as well? That's fortunate for both of us, then, isn't it?" Tellah motioned toward the peak of the mountain with his staff. "Shall we?"

Cecil nodded, "Of course. My blade is useless on this death-infested mountain. Any help you could offer would be most appreciated."

The group of four set out, Tellah and Palom exchanging tales of Magical daring-do with the occasional chirp of Porom's queries accompanying them. Cecil was content to listen, for the Light was exhausting him, its pulsations growing ever more powerful as they neared the peak. It took a great deal of concentration to keep the Darkness from welling up inside of him in order to lash out at the Light; he almost lost his footing when a low hiss sounded.

"Palom! Stop that!" he heard Porom snap.

"I didn't do anything!"

"They're quite lively. Where did you find them?" Tellah asked, and Cecil turned his gaze toward the Sage.

"They're my guides."

"Old Max gave them to you, did he?" Tellah chuckled and shook his head. "It sounds like something Max would do."

"You know The Elder?"

"Quite well. Max and I trained together back in my Order days," Tellah smiled fondly, reminiscing. "He always said I was meant to be Elder, but the power would have corrupted me, gone to my head. It's better I took the path I did, even if it's lead me here."

There was another hiss, but Cecil and Tellah ignored it, continuing their conversation.

"He promised me Palom and Porom were his most talented apprentices."

"I have no doubt about that. Scaling Mount Ordeals would be suicide for any less than a high level apprentice," Tellah looked at the two of them, still arguing, and smiled. "They have great futures ahead of them."

Cecil looked ahead of them and saw, to his great surprise, nothing but blue sky. They had risen above the cloud bank and Cecil could finally see the pale silhouettes of the twin moons hanging in the sky; it almost seemed to relieve some of his pain.

"We're almost there," he said, pushing ahead only to find himself met with a rickety rope bridge that extended across a dark chasm.

There was another low hiss, except this time Cecil knew for sure it wasn't a prank of Palom's.

From the ground rose several forms cloaked in the stench of death, spearheaded by a slouched shape in a tattered sack that seemed to serve as a hooded cape. It had sickly yellow eyes that stared from beneath the hem of his hood. Limping forward, it extended a clawed, emaciated hand, reaching for the Dark Knight.

"Cecil Harvey," it rasped, "I am ssso glad you could finally join usss."

"Who are you?" Cecil demanded, staggering his step in automatic defense as his hand lighted upon the hilt of his blade.

"Ssscarmiglione, Lieutenant to Golbez, known assss the Damned Dessspot. I am your doom," it continued its limp, and Cecil stepped backward just as the three Magi came over the rise. "Now don't ressisst. Allow my undead children to feassst on your flesssh."

The monsters sprung into action.

Stepping out of the way of a wild swing, Cecil used the flat edge of his blade to drive the fiends backward. He bided his time as his Magi companions proceeded to cast spells, but he could see the zombies slowly advancing, goaded on by the hacking cough that passed for their master's laugh.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Cecil, and he leapt into the midst of the onslaught of enemies. Using the blunt edge of his blade, he drove the monsters backward, corralling them along the cliff's edge. Using all his strength, he continued to drive them back until a few stumbled over the brink.

The others moaned and attempted to converge on him, and Cecil hopped rearward, but the footing was poor and he fell onto his back, automatically curling into a defensive position. Feeling a sharp pang of fear shoot through him as the monsters clambered toward him, he was surprised when a snake like train of white-hot fire chose that moment to leap between him and his enemies. Curling about their forms like a massive constrictor, Cecil watched as they melted into piles of rancid, bubbling goo and scuttled away from the deadly drop. He had no time to berate himself for such a careless, and fatal, mistake while they were still in the heat of battle.

There was suddenly an earsplitting screech, and Cecil snapped his head toward its point of origin, watching as the flaming form of the cloaked creature threw itself off the cliff. He looked to the Magi, who looked relieved, but the awareness he was now coming to depend on still prickled along the back of his neck.

It had not failed him in the Mist Passage, it had not failed him on the ship, and he did not think it would fail him now.

Standing, he turned to his companions, greeted by Tellah's somewhat cheerful comment of , "Well, at least none of us are afraid of bridges."

Cecil didn't mention that it was the drop, not the bridge, that they needed to fear. Instead, he acted on his instinct. "The three of you go ahead of me. I'll take the rear."

Palom was the first on the bridge, followed by his sister, and then Tellah. True to his word, Cecil followed, feeling the pit in his stomach deepen as the Darkness churned through him and the Light grew almost unbearable.

His apprehension proved fitting.

Over the edge of the bridge came a clawed hand. It dug into the planks, and as it pulled itself up, Cecil turned about in hopes of defending his companions. Holding his blade out in front of him, Cecil barked orders to the three who still stood, dumbfounded, behind him. "Back! Get back! Get over the bridge!"

"Cecil, what-?"

But Porom's inquiry was cut off when the large form finally came fully into view.

It was as tall as three men, though it crouched on all fours, and was as thin as a shadow. Its large head seemed too heavy for its thin frame and stooped low, soulless yellow eyes boring into Cecil, its stringy black hair hanging into its face. Grey and mottled skin stretched over its skeletal frame, it had claws instead of fingers, and smiled in the eternal, mindless way that all skulls did.

"Ssstrong in life, I am ssstronger ssstill in death!" growled Scarmiglione. "Now prepare to die, mortal! May my undead flesssh be the lassst thing you sssee in thisss life!"

The beast lunged.

Careful to keep his footing on the rocking bridge, Cecil did what he could to dodge the blows, attempting to keep it distracted. Weaving left underneath its arm, he tried to back up and get to solid rock, knowing how dangerous it was to even attempt to fight on a bridge.

Unfortunately, a blow connected with his shoulder as the bridge's swinging motion knocked him into it. Gasping, Cecil fell into the left guard rope, the creature looming over him, its death's head still grinning sinisterly.

Laughing, Scarmiglione swiped his claw at Cecil, but the Dark Knight dove forward despite his wounded shoulder. Thrusting with his good arm, Cecil drove the blade deep into the Lieutenant's stomach. With the beast caught off-guard, Cecil was able to use his new found leverage to drive it back a ways.

But Scarmiglione was smarter than that, it seemed, for he regained his balance and pushed the Knight away. Stumbling, Cecil fell once more, staring with determined and terrified eyes up at the fiend. The monster stared down at him and chuckled, gripping the hilt with his vice-like fingers and pulling it free with a single tug, making a sick slurping noise as it slid out of his flesh. Examining the blade boredly, Scarmiglione tossed the sword from the cliff, which clanged as it tumbled into the abyss.

Backing away, Cecil scooted across the bridge on his backside, feeling the Darkness within him calling for the blade. Pain wracked every limb, but Cecil kept moving, struggling to keep control of his mind. Murder and pain swirled through his being like a dark whirlwind, but he somehow managed to reach solid ground, though the beast dragged itself after him, chuckling wickedly.

Suddenly finding himself in the midst of the Magi, he barely noticed as a shimmering blue barrier erected itself around them. He did notice, however, when a large ball of fire hit the ghoul square in the chest, sending him tumbling to his knees. Yet the beast struggled to its feet, and Cecil felt certain at that moment that they were destined to die upon this mountain, barrier or no barrier.

But fire leapt from Palom's palm onto the guard ropes tethered to the posts. The twine groaned and then snapped in the heat, the bridge careening into the opposite cliff face, sending Golbez's Lieutenant plummeting to his doom on the craggy rocks of the chasm below.

Cecil watched as his form grew smaller and smaller, feeling blood lust well up inside of him. Desperately choking it down using the little willpower he had left, he did not turn to face his compatriots. "Please … Teleport …" he pleaded. "Darkness … Overtaking … Me ..."

"Sir Cecil …" Porom's hand grabbed his sleeve, but he spun away from her, stumbling backwards. Murderous rage threatened to engulf him. "No! Get back! Get back or I swear I'll kill you!" He growled hoarsely, peering up at her from underneath his sweaty hair.

"Don't be stupid!" said Palom, stepping toward him. "The shrine-!"

"Stop!" Cecil jumped away from him, but his hand touched a smooth powdery stone.

Suddenly, his mind was filled with clarity, and he was blanketed in a familiar warmth that he instinctively knew was protecting him. He turned his head away from Palom just in time to see a gentle glow emanate from where his hand had touched the stone of the altar he had not noticed until now. It was carved with intricate glyphs that danced just beyond his mind's reach, almost as if he could understand them if he concentrated.

When he looked back to question his companions as to their knowledge of the ruin, he felt his head spin and his stomach flip.

Then the world around him melted, leaving him stranded in a sea of stars.


	14. Twelve: Renaissance

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Twelve: Renaissance

Cecil spun around, surrounded on all sides by glass walls that held the universe on their smooth surfaces. Placing his palms against one of the walls, he tried pushing to see if there was a secret passage or some other means of escape, but his efforts fell flat. Sliding down the wall, he placed his head in his hands, wondering if he had died and was trapped in his own personal hell. Certainly this place, a confined space that mimicked a Crystal Chamber in appearance but was absent of the serene gem, seemed to be mocking him. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced he had died in the battle with Scarmiglione, and had plummeted to his doom. Slamming his fist against the wall, Cecil tried to come to terms with spending an eternity in this place, but a gentle voice pulled him to his feet.

"Cecil."

Standing, Cecil reached for his sword, but remembered its absence when his hand met naught but air. Instead, he settled for what he hoped sounded like an intimidating demand, "Who's there?"

His eyes scanned the room, but it was empty beside for his reflection, on the wall opposite him. Aggravated, Cecil called out once more. "Show yourself! Tell me why you've imprisoned me here!"

"My son, please, calm yourself."

Cecil started, spinning around once more. He was aghast at the way this voice addressed him, so he was more careful in his search; and when his eyes lighted on what he had previously dismissed as his own reflection, he froze. Hesitantly, he stepped toward it, examining the face that stared at him from beyond the surface of the glass.

The facial structure and body type of the man in the mirror was similar to Cecil's, though he was older, but other than that Cecil did not see that they had very much in common. He was shorter, and his hair fell well past his waist, tied back in a thick braid that spoke to just how voluminous it must be. His skin was so pale that it seemed luminous as the moons in the darkness, and his eyes were like two orbs made of violet glass, conveying emotion so deep that Cecil almost flinched away from their gaze.

"I've been waiting for you, Cecil," the man in the mirror raised his hand as if to reach out to the Dark Knight, but he dropped it to his side, his face filled with pain.

Cecil wondered if he were trapped inside this prison just as Cecil's heart was ensnared by the Darkness. Suddenly, Cecil felt a pang of guilt. If this man truly was his father, then all his resentment was unwarranted, for the man in the mirror could no more leave this place than Cecil himself could wield the Light.

"It's been very difficult to wait for you, but I knew you would come. I always have, even in the beginning." The man turned his face away from Cecil, his billowing white cape swaying as he shifted. "What you must face now …" pain was etched into the lines of his aging face. "You cannot understand, cannot possibly conceive, how deeply the future laid before you pains me, but you must face it. The life of this very world depends on you."

"Please, tell me, who are you?" Cecil pleaded, taking another step forward.

The man turned his head back toward Cecil, shock displayed on his soft features, but he soon smiled, though it was a smile filled with a profound sadness. "I think you already know the answer to that question, my child." Absently, the man placed his hand on the pommel of his blade, and Cecil found himself wondering if this man drew comfort from the familiar object as Cecil did.

After a long moment in which the man simply stared at Cecil, he unsheathed his sword and held it in his hands, the flat edge of the blade resting against his palm. "As you are, you cannot hope to face the Darkness Golbez wields, however …" The man's hands began to glow with a faint white light, and the sword began to levitate. It drifted slowly toward Cecil, exiting the mirror and disturbing its perfect surface, sending ripples across its surface. It stopped only when it was near enough for the Knight to reach out and take it. "However, if you were to become a Champion of the Light, I am certain your power would be enough to overcome the shadow that threatens this world."

Cecil stared at the floating sword in amazement, admiring the perfect balance of the blade. It was forged of a metal too resplendent to be of this world, and its cross-guard took the shape of two massive wings extended in flight, cast in magnificent blue and gold; it was inlaid with a jewel as red and as deep as the petals of a rose. Its hilt was wrapped in deep brown leather, unfrayed as it must have been when it was forged. The pommel of the thing was a perfectly round gem that's sheen reminded him of a Crystal, casting shimmering reflections on the wall.

Somehow knowing that he was meant to take the sword as his own, Cecil reached out and grasped the hilt in his hand, finding that it fit so well it was as if it had been made for him. Up close, he could see that the blade was engraved with runic symbols that glowed dimly green in the darkness, and it was almost as if a fog had lifted from his mind, for they alined and Cecil found they formed words he could read.

In his hand it glowed more brilliantly until Cecil was engulfed in a light that felt somehow familiar, as if he had finally returned home. But to his supreme surprise, the blade disappeared and he was left floating through space, no longer in the room, but held in a swirling cloud of Darkness that reminded Cecil of what he truly was. The warm feeling departed from him under the burden of his darkest sins, and he was left in the Darkness, which coiled more tightly about him, his feelings of shame and guilt returning with it.

"Let go of your pain," said the voice, echoing inside of his head, piercing the Darkness within.

It was like a single ray of sunshine through the tumultuous gray of storm clouds, and Cecil clung to the voice for dear life.

"Your pain is self-inflicted, punishment for what you perceive as unforgivable sins." Cecil looked up to search for the voice and found that the clouds truly had parted to illuminate him in a beam of intensely white light. "But no sin, no matter how grave it may seem, is truly unforgivable if the one whom it was committed against is willing to forgive it. Those whom you have wronged have chosen to forgive you, so your suffering is pointless. Leave your pain behind you, Cecil, let it vanish in the warmth of the Light."

Cecil could feel the all-consuming cold that filled his chest begin to melt as more light pierced the dark canopy of clouds overhead, driving them away. Still, something deep inside of him squirmed away from the harsh and alien light, resisting its embrace, longing for the security of the deep and familiar Darkness.

"Forget your shame and guilt," crooned the voice.

Cecil tore his eyes away from the sky at the sound of it, for it filled him, thundering through every limb in his body. Looking down, he realized with great shame that he was naked and turned his face away, wondering if the voice could see him.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear son. The burden you carry is a heavy one, but you don't have to carry it alone. There are many who care deeply for you and would share in your struggles, if only you would let them." For a moment, Cecil thought he felt a hand upon his head, but when he snapped his eyes back up to look there was no one standing there. "I have seen your heart, and it is good and true. Your guilt and shame are only shackles that bind you to the Darkness, and if you let them go you will be free of it. Haven't you suffered long enough for sins that have already been forgiven?"

Images of a smiling Rydia, of Edward and Yang, of the Mysidian man that had saved him, of The Elder and the twins flashed through his mind, and he looked down at his hands. "Blood can never be washed away," he told the voice ruefully.

"That is true," it acknowledged. "Those lives lost can never be returned. Some will never forgive you, but a few have. It is a gift, my son, that forgiveness, and to remain wallowing in your own self-pity would be to spit on their sorrow."

Cecil whipped his head up, about to speak, but he felt his throat constrict and tears burn behind his eyes, suddenly weak in the knees. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. All I've done, all the pain I've inflicted … I won't cause another innocent to suffer! I will do everything I can to protect them! I won't let the trust my friends have placed in me be in vain." He looked up once more, and the Darkness pulled away from him, the vast black clouds that had previously consumed him roiling away at the Light's touch. No longer ashamed at his nakedness, Cecil continued to speak. "They have forgiven me, and my own burden does nothing to appease the pain they still must feel. Though I am not worthy of their forgiveness … I will no longer run from my sins! Please, give me the kind of power I need so that I may become a man who can protect them!"

"Cecil Harvey, Dark Knight of Baron, stand up and face the man you truly are," boomed the voice all around him, but Cecil did not flinch away from it this time.

Around him the world of illusion crumbled, and Cecil found himself standing once more in the mirrored hall, facing a man that he scarcely recognized.

The face was his, certainly, but he had never seen himself look so … at peace. His green eyes shone with a confidence he could not remember feeling since he had been a small boy, and his blue lips, a feature of which he had once been ashamed, were curved into an earnest smile. Though a cape fell about his shoulders and he wore a finely woven mail shirt, he felt somehow lighter, as if a weight he had not known he had been carrying had been lifted from his chest. His armor seemed to glow, but his skin, too, seemed somehow luminous, as if he were lit from within with a gentle light. Even his snowy white hair, previously restrained, flowed freely, sticking up, back and out in ways he had forget it could. It was held back only through the meager powers of a golden diadem set with a red jewel that matched the one on the cross-guard of the sword that now hung loosely at his hip.

This man was a Paladin, but he was also Cecil Harvey, a man who had done terrible things but had been forgiven through no power of his own. Struggling to remember the last time he had felt so free, Cecil realized that this was the man he had always been, deep down inside.

"Your trial is not yet over," said the voice softly in his ear. "You have been freed from the Darkness, but in order to possess the Light you must truly conquer the night. Take sword in hand and face the man you once were in order to become the man you were always destined to be."

Drawing his blade, Cecil braced himself as the clanking of armor echoed through the chamber and a dark shape emerged from beyond the surface of the mirror-world. Cecil recognized the form clad in deepest black, staring at him with green eyes full of self-loathing and fear.

He thought he would have felt hatred at his Darkness manifested in physical form. Rather, he felt compassion, though not for himself. He felt it for all who were controlled and distorted by their own fear and selfishness, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that in order to conquer this wraith he must forgive it.

The Dark Knight moved to attack him, but Cecil dodged to the left, refusing to raise his blade against this enemy. It struck again, but Cecil jumped back, grabbing his sinister reflection's wrist in his hand. They stood locked in perfect stalemate until the Dark Knight kneed him in the stomach and sent Cecil to the ground. It raised its sword over its head as if to strike, but Cecil did not move to retaliate, only raised his arms above his head in an attempt to defend himself from a blow that never came.

"Yes. There is more to the Light than justice and retribution," he heard the voice say to him. "Mercy and compassion are tools essential to the arsenal of the Paladin. Though killing will be the only way to destroy the True Darkness, most creatures only need to be shown their faults to recant of them. Of course, sometimes they will not listen. It is then that your decision becomes difficult, but you must never lose faith in the Light, Cecil, never."

Above him, the Dark Knight's eyes widened in shock, and the form dissolved into black powder, blown away on a wind that Cecil could not feel. Standing, the Knight sheathed his sword and turned to the mirror only to find the man staring at him from it once more, a look of pride filling his deep eyes.

"You have done well, my son," he placed a gloved hand over his chest, and a faint light grew beneath it until he held a small sphere cupped in his palm. Though tiny, the Light was not fragile, and Cecil wondered at its serene beauty. "Take this Light. It is the last of my strength, the only gift I am able to give you, but it will serve you well in the days to come. I have faith in your ability. I always have, from the moment I first held you in my arms."

Too stunned to speak, Cecil could only watch as the Light flew from the mirror and into his chest, where it grew to fill him with a deep and gentle warmth that clouded his vision, though he could not explain the reason. He placed his hand over his heart, knowing he would never return to the Darkness after receiving the gift of forgiveness.

"Thank you," he said, raising his head to stare at the man, but the image was fading, though it still smiled at him with sad eyes.

Suddenly feeling desperate, Cecil reached out to the man in the mirror, wanting to ask him something, _anything_, that would explain the aching inside of his chest. He wondered, not for the first time, if this man could really be his father, the one whom he had blamed for abandoning him for so long.

"Please, Cecil, stop Golbez," pleaded the man, not allowing Cecil a chance to speak. The Paladin felt its strength waver, like the struggling flickers of a swift dying flame. "He's-!"

But his voice faded, and the man was unable to finish his desperate plea; and though Cecil leapt forward, he soon found himself lying on his back staring at a vast expanse of blue sky and the vague shapes of his companion's heads.

He wondered, for a brief moment, if it had been a dream, but he could feel the sword at his side and the Light inside of him. Feeling suddenly lighter, the Paladin began to laugh despite the desperation of a moment ago.

"Cecil?"

Sitting up, he turned to face Porom, staring into her concerned face. Reaching out, he placed a hand on her head and smiled his widest smile, happy to see that he still wore his new armor. "You needn't worry Porom, I'm just relieved." He stood up and looked away, feeling the grin still upon his face. "I'm finally rid of that cursed blade for good now."

He looked to Tellah and Porom, who looked dumbstruck at his behavior, and then to Palom, who wore a blank expression. It didn't last long, however, for he soon broke into a toothy grin, "Man, you're even weirder than I thought!"

Cecil laughed again, this time more heartily, and turned to look out over the world below, the feeling in his heart reminding him of the feeling of flight. He turned around again only when Tellah's sudden shouts broke the stunned silence.

"By Breithe's beard! I've remembered them! And-!" The old man was practically jumping around in circles as he danced about the peak in excitement. "And I know Meteo! The seal has been broken!"

Though Cecil was worried for Tellah when he recalled Porom's comment about the destructiveness of the magic, the old man's antics had him shaking his head in amusement. "Then if we have everything we need, shall we return to Mysidia City?"

A deep blush colored Porom's face, and Tellah ceased his dancing.

"I'm afraid I exhausted myself in the battle. I will have to rest for awhile before I am able to teleport us to the the base of the mountain."

"I'm not as young as I used to be," grumbled Tellah, but his complaints were drowned out by Paloms's. "Great! Now we're all stuck here on this cliff until one of you clowns gets enough rest to get us out of here! Which bozo burned the ropes again?"

Cecil shook his head, for Palom had burned the ropes himself, and turned away. He frowned, looking out at the thick cloud bank below. Running his hand through his now loose strands of thick hair, Cecil struggled to think of a way to leave the summit.

It was at that moment that a feeling overcame him.

"Come here, you three," he said, turning about, and they approached him. "Grab onto me."

"What are you thinking?" Palom asked him, though Cecil suspected that Porom and Tellah already had an idea by the skeptical looks on their faces.

"Just trust me."

Closing his eyes, Cecil pictured the base of Mount Ordeals in his mind's eye. He could see the craggy landscape sprawling ahead of him with miles of vast, dark forest behind him. Knowing what he wanted, he could feel as something stirred deep inside of him, flowing through his limbs like a river of energy. The feeling burst into a bloom of wind that stemmed from the deep warmth in Cecil's chest as his magic unfurled and awakened.

It pulled them, as had Edward's vial of powder, through the folds of space, but this time Cecil did not feel illness overcome him, and when he opened his eyes he knew for sure exactly what outcrop he would be standing on.

Cecil now knew that no matter what the future may hold for him, he had the power to protect those most precious to him.

He gently pulled away from his stunned group of companions, smiled at them, and motioned for them to follow him into the bright new future that was sure to await them all.


	15. Thirteen: The Return to Baron

Gaelach Breithe

Chapter Thirteen: The Return to Baron

The sun shone brilliantly that morning, warming the cobblestone streets of Vangrad, baking them in warm light.

A man strode across those streets, wearing a billowing cloak that trailed behind him, a sword dangling at his hip, his left hand grasping the pommel. He was accompanied by a short woman in a red tunic, a leather breastplate fastened to her chest. She did not wear a cloak as the man did, her face filled with the pride of a warrior, her own sword slung about her waist almost carelessly.

The pair stood close, like old friends, though it was the man who seemed to be leading the way, perhaps because his stride was so much longer than her own. Where they were headed was unknown, and they passed through the morning crowed unnoticed. It seemed that such people were common fare in the market.

At last they reached their destination, a large home that towered above the other flats in the area with its three stories. Almost the moment they arrived on the threshold, the doors were flung open by a young woman with wild auburn hair, and they were pulled inside the dark building.

The doors were slammed behind them, and the young lady looked at them with accusing hazel eyes. "What took you so long?"

"Sorry," the woman said in apology as the man removed the hood of his cloak. "We were held up by some of the townspeople."

"I'm glad to see you made it out alive," said a deep, masculine voice.

The woman's face lit up as she turned to its source. "Father!" she said. "You're here!"

The man, short for a man of Baron, with dusty blonde hair and kind brown eyes, embraced his daughter warmly, looking over her shoulder to gaze into the eyes of the Paladin who stood just to their left. "Cecil … You look well." The man released his daughter to clasp the Paladin's hand in his own strong grasp. "It's good to see you again, son. How have you been?"

"I've been better, Sir Monroe, but I think that can be said for all of us," Cecil replied grimly."I am glad to see you here and alive. I was worried for Baron's state of affairs, and the presence of a strong leader like you on our side is no small reassurance."

The woman's father looked about to reply, but a voice interrupted him.

"Now that you're here, we don't have to worry so much about a lack of leadership," the voice was not one he recognized, so Cecil turned around to face the source. The source turned out to be an extremely tall dark haired man with calm mahogany eyes. "You are the backbone of this rebellion, Sir Harvey."

Cecil knew the man as Ryder Jennith, Lieutenant Captain of the Dragon Knights. He was a stern man, but Kain had always spoken highly of him, a man of integrity who was unshakably loyal to his moral code. Apparently that code involved protecting the people of Baron regardless of

"You flatter me more than I deserve," said Cecil with a polite incline of his head.

A ghost smirk filled Ryder's lips. "You're being too modest, Sir Harvey. Your name alone is enough to give our people hope. Your presence incites rebellion in the citizens." He crossed his arms over his chest and leveled his piercing eyes at the Paladin."For the first time in a long time, it feels like our resistance is doing something."

Before Cecil could respond, Palom burst into the room, followed by an affronted looking Porom and an amused Tellah. "Are we finally going to DO something?" he asked excitedly, practically jumping up and down.

"Not yet, Palom," said the young woman who had arrived with Cecil. "We have to disable the guard first. We can do nothing with those goons snooping about."

"I TOLD you, Palom," Porom muttered to her now-sulking brother.

"But how do we go about doing so?" asked sir Monroe.

Cecil shook his head. "We do not yet know."

It was hard to believe he had been here with the guerillas for close to a month already. It did not feel as if it had been that amount of time as they labored toward their goal of reclaiming Baron. Even though the situation was still bleak, it was worlds better than when he had arrived those weeks ago. Then they had been nothing but a rag tag band, taking where they could and barely scraping by. Since then, they had organized in Cid's house and had started formulating plans to retake Baron, concentrating their efforts on guerrilla attacks to weaken the empire in the meantime.

Their current goal was the liberation of Cid, who had been taken before Cecil had stepped foot in Vangrad. It was necessary for everyone, for Cecil, who needed an airship for Rosa, and for the resistance, who needed their leader, their source of morale. In the meantime, they lived and worked in Cid's spacious home, not quite a mansion, but too big to be simply called "a house". They were under the care of his seventeen year old daughter, the strong willed Karina Pollendina, the very same young woman who had ushered them into the house only minutes before.

The woman who had accompanied Cecil placed her cloak on the hall tree, her hands on her hips. "If we're going to talk, why don't we go to the drawing room?" She looked to Cecil and Ryder, who nodded in agreement.

They filed neatly into the next room, though Kari took the twins away, likely ushering them off to do some other chore under her supervision. The rest of them took their seats on Cid's modest, worn furniture, all facing one another. All together there were five of them, including Cecil and Sage Tellah, and of them only Ryder seemed relaxed, though Cecil could see a care in his eyes that he could barely begin to fathom.

"Kali," Devon Monroe began, "how's the situation in the castle?"

The woman, Cecil's long time friend, shook her head sadly. "My boys say it's worse than ever. The monster-soldiers won't let them leave, and they're forced to work on the airships from dawn til dusk. They're barely allowed three breaks a day for meal time, so they're having a hard time getting word to me now."

Ryder, too, shook his head in disgust. "The Dragon Knights are not much better off. It is regrettable that I had to leave them in their hour of need, but … "

The distress on the face of the Lieutenant Captain was fairly obvious, and it was Devon who moved to comfort him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're more help to us out here, Ryder. Don't beat yourself up over something you can't control."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as everyone thought of what they had lost, and their conversation seemed at a close when Tellah snorted. "Let's stop wallowing in this despair and self-pity. What good does that do our loved ones?" It was good to have him there. "So tell me, what do we do to get out of this situation?"

"If we had the key to the underground, we could launch an offensive," Kali said. "But I don't know who has it."

"Yes, the castle is nearly abandoned during the night when everyone is locked in their rooms," Ryder nodded in agreement. "No one would expect an offensive in the dead of the night, especially if it were fronted by a small group who opened the gates from the inside."

"But that's moot," Tellah pointed out. "She just said that we don't know where the key is."

"But if we can find the key … " Devon's tone was hopeful.

Cecil watched quietly, his chin resting on his knuckle. His mind was elsewhere, on the probable location of that key. He had heard rumors in the city of a pub that the guards frequented, but if most were not allowed to leave the castle, then they must be getting to Vangrad proper _somehow._ It was certainly worth checking out, something Cecil would make a point of doing himself later. For now, however, there were more pressing matters on his mind.

"Are there still many wounded?" he asked.

"Yes. The last raid on the Kingdom's grain stores was not entirely successful," Ryder explained. "Though there were no casualties, these brave men are now being tracked by the kingdom. Orders are to kill them on sight." Ryder leaned forward in his seat, his eyes focused on some distant point in the past, and Cecil wondered what he was thinking about before focusing his mind once more.

"I suggest evacuating them to Necrograd," Cecil said, looking to Devon. "I trust the Dark Knights are putting up a show of resistance?"

Devon laughed. "These are Baron's elite, Cecil, as you well know. Of course we would not bow down to that tyrant Golbez and his Puppet King!" He pounded his fist on his hand repeatedly. "Thanks to the efforts of the Dark Knights and the overall structure of the stronghold, the city remains a bastion against evil."

"It would be best for you and a small regiment of your men to take the injured and any refugees who wish to go north to Necrograd," Cecil said. "That way they are free from the terrors that are sure to come."

"We'll announce it in the pub meetings," Kali said. "When do you think they should leave?"

"Clearly, as soon as they possibly can," Tellah said. "If we find this key of yours, things will get messy real fast. They'll find out that it's gone, and then we'll all be in trouble. The fewer people that are here when that happens, the fewer casualties there will be in the fallout."

Ryder looked amused. "You're a bit violent for a Mysidian."

There was another long snort. "No,just more practical. None of that 'there's a non-violent answer to everything' crap. Sometimes you have to beat the living daylights out of someone to do what needs to be done."

"Well-put, Sage," Ryder nodded in agreement. "I will send the word to the pubs tonight that anyone wishing for solace should meet here in a few days time. Lord Devon, you should prepare for your journey. I predict that your group will be ready to move in as little as two days."

"Do you have any places for what our next move should be?" Kali asked.

Cecil shook his head. "There's a lead I would like to follow, but it's something I feel I should do on my own. So I suggest laying low, staying out of trouble, until I confirm my hunch."

"Cecil … "

The Paladin looked to his life-long friend, finding concern in the depths of her eyes. He owed her an explanation after showing up on the doorstep here, a different man than the one she had known all these years, with two children and an old man in tow. So he smiled his reassurance, placing a hand on her narrow shoulder. "It will be alright, Kali. This is something I have to do by myself … to protect everyone."

After a quiet moment considering him, she nodded. "Well, everyone, that about covers it. Cecil, I want to speak with you in private … If that's okay. The rest of you are dismissed."

Everyone drifted away after a long moment, eventually leaving Cecil and Kali completely alone. She stood, looking at him, and though she barely stood at the bottom of his chest, Cecil knew Kali to be a formidable warrior. Her brownish-red eyes demanded of him answers, answers that he knew she unequivocally deserved.

"It's best not to speak in the open," Cecil said, not for fear of anyone overhearing his story, but for the protection of the Light on the Mountain, which he surely felt was still alive somewhere.

Kali nodded at him and silently and swiftly led him to a small room that was up a flight of stairs and down a narrow hallway. He closed the door behind them and she went and sat on the small bed, staring up at him expectantly.

It was clear to Cecil that it was her room just from a brief glance around. The walls were hung with an odd mixture of sentimental objects and weapons. A few of the objects Cecil himself had given her long ago and in what seemed like a different lifetime. They were things that meant a lot to the both of them, but he was surprised to see that she had still kept them. When he had broken off their relationship, she had been so distraught … He didn't think she would have kept his gifts, yet …

He raised his head when he felt Kali's sharp eyes upon him, considering him. He stared calmly back, remembering the last time she had regarded him in such a way, just before he had returned to Baron to assume his position as Captain of the Red Wings. He had left Necrograd with a sore jaw and an aching heart.

This time, however, her face softened and she smiled. "It's been awhile, hasn't it, Cecil?"

"Indeed it has," he replied with a soft smile of his own. "I would ask you how you've been … But … "

She frowned. "Yes, well, that's a given. You've been here for upwards of a month, so you should know." She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled her gaze at the window. "It's upsetting, but with everything that's been happening, we haven't really been able to talk."

He nodded and slid down the wall directly across from where she sat at the foot of her bed.

"Truth be told," she continued, "I've had a few questions for you ever since you arrived on our doorstep with two kids and an old man."

There it was, what was bothering her. What had been on her mind. The loaded question, so to speak. "And what questions are those?"

"Well, I have quite a few, but I suppose I could sum them all up with just one question … " She took in a breath, then paused hesitantly before finally speaking. "What happened to you?"

Cecil sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "You deserve an answer." He ran a hand through his hair. "But I'm not sure if what I have to say can satisfy you – Or even if I'm ready to share what happened."

She looked at him, waiting for her answer.

"I'm a Paladin now, Kali," he told her. "In Mysidia, everything changed."

"Everything … ?" she whispered.

Cecil, trying to have tact, nodded. "As I've said, I'm a Paladin now." He stood and unhooked the scabbard from his belt, offering it to her. "You're welcome to look at it." It was an invitation that he could tell shocked her, since his sword had nearly never left his side as a Dark Knight, but he was no longer afraid of losing it, for his sanity would stay intact, and this blade could not corrupt others.

He watched as Kali unsheathed the blade, running her hand along the flat edge of the sword, tracing the runic letters with her fingers. The expression on her face was admiring. "I've never seen a sword like this before. What …" she tore her eyes from the blade to meet his gaze. "What is it made of? Do you know?"

"Crystal," replied the Paladin. "Or so says the Elder of Mysidia."

Gingerly, the Knight tucked the sword back into its scabbard and returned it to its master. "And the letters … What language are they? Do you know what they say?"

"I do not know what the language is, but the Elder of Mysidia said that they are the words of the Mysidian Prophecy," he said. "It was said the blade was the Sword of Gaelach, that it is his Light that resides within it." The Paladin shook his head, trying to disregard the idea that the Man in the Mirror could have been Gaelach himself. "Whether or not it is true, I do not know. I know only that I received it on Mount Ordeals and that this Light is what will allow me to vanquish Golbez and rescue Rosa."

Kali stood up and looked him in the eye for a long moment before wrapping her arms around him. "You always were a courageous man, Cecil Harvey," said the Knight softly. "And I know that, no matter what, you'll be able to achieve your goals. If anyone can save us, stop Golbez, it's you."

At first, Cecil was not sure if he should embrace her back, but after a moment he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you," he said after a long silence that spanned between them.

She backed away. "Where did that come from?" All her insecurities seemed to be gone. "You gave me more than I could ever ask for, Cecil. Being your friend … Being Rosa's friend … That's too important to me to ever throw it away because of petty longing or jealousy." She beamed at him. "And I'm happy for you. Because you love her. And she loves you. And you're both happy together."

Cecil's eyes widened slightly, but then he laughed, a clear, kind noise. "It seems I'm not the only one who has undergone changes. You're not the same woman I remember. You're more mature. We both are."

He watched as her face fell a bit. "I had to change. It was my deployment here that changed me..."

His hand feel upon her shoulder. "It will all be alright, Kali. I have a hunch… One I plan to follow through on tonight."

She looked to him, her eyes solemn. "…You plan to do this alone, don't you? And there's nothing I can do to change your mind?"

He bit his lip and nodded.

With a sigh, she replied. "I'll cover for you, then."

"Kali … "

"No, I've got it covered. If you're determined, I might as well help," she winked and turned away from him. "I trust you, Cecil, and I believe you when you say that we'll all make it through this. If I can do even this, it will be enough for me," she paused at the doorway. "This is what friends do."

He stared at her, though he had a feeling she was hurt more than she was letting on. She was being so admirable, and bravery was a trait Cecil had always found admirable. "You have my thanks."

Kali simply smiled.

* * *

Golbez peered over his goblet, looking upon the man who sat two chairs away from him, on the left side of the table. He was picking at his roast boar with a pensive expression etched into his features, his eyes suitably dark.

"Kain, I extend my hospitality by inviting you to dine with me, yet you do not take advantage of it," said the Dark Lord, his voice full of pretense and pomp. "Tell me, is the spread up to your standards? I understand you are of high birth, being of the Noble House of Highwind, however I do not think my chefs so awful that they would warrant your disregard."

Kain's hazy amber eyes rose to look at the tyrant. "It's not that, mi'lord. I am concerned about Cecil's victory over Scarmiliogne."

"You needn't worry," came a cold sneer from Golbez's right.

Barbariccia, the Fiend of the Wind, looked out from over her nose at the Lord Captain of the Baron Dragon Knights. She was indeed a beautiful woman, with long, pale yellow hair and liquid golden eyes. She was also incredibly cruel, which, Golbez supposed, was the reason she was so effective.

"He may have defeated that fool, but he was the weakest of us all. There is no way he'll defeat the rest of us, even if he does, by some miracle, manage to escape from Baron alive and unscathed." She sipped her wine, her eyes sliding over to Golbez, a smirk on her alluring lips. "Really, Sir Highwind, there's no need to be so finicky over one, little, Knight."

Kain sighed. "I see your point, however, I cannot help but feel as if you are underestimating Cecil. He is no mere Knight. Did he not just successfully receive the blessing of the Light?"

Barbariccia looked as if she were about to say something more, but Rubicante cut her off. Golbez himself leaned back, a satisfied expression on his face as he watched the drama unfold. "Barbariccia, I believe Kain's worries have some stock," the massive black man crooned. "Not nearly enough to worry us, but I believe there is a large possibility that he will liberate the throne of Baron."

"My dear Rubicante, there is no doubt in my mind that he will liberate Baron's throne," Golbez said with a rather sinister smile. "In fact, I anticipate it."

The three of them stared at him in shock, their eyes glowing gold, white and amber in the dim of the torch-lit darkness.

"Yes, it is all part of my greater plan," his eyes fell to Kain. "We have provided him sufficient bait to come to us, and when he does we will crush him." He chuckled, staring into the depths of the shadows around them. "Yes, Baron will be but a small, temporary, loss when I crush him beneath my heel." He took a languid sip of his cider. "Now Kain, please do tell me about our esteemed guest. How is she faring?"

Kain's eyes darted back to his food. "She is resilient mi'lord. She continues to insist Cecil will triumph over you."

Golbez laughed in his deep, resonant voice. "Ah well, bide your time; this is the best advice I can offer you. When that man dies, she will break utterly and come more willingly into your arms. It will simply take time. Patience, Kain."

Kain nodded and began to do more than simply pick around his food.

"How goes the conquest for the final Crystal?" Golbez inquired.

"Not as well as we'd hoped, Lord Golbez," said Barbariccia. "The Elves who have captured the Crystal have been showing great resistance."

"Not a surprising development," drawled the tyrant. "We thought they would fight against us."

"It's worse, Lord Golbez," Barbarica continued. "Their leader, The Dark Elf Adadorn, has fled into the Magnetite Caverns." She shook her head. "Our armies are not equipped to follow him."

Golbez sighed heavily, about to speak when he saw Kain move out of the corner of his eye. He let his amethyst gaze fall onto the Dragon Knight. "You have something to say, Kain?"

The blonde man blanched. "It's simply that … when Cecil gains control of Baron, he will have access to its airships. We have Rosa, so perhaps we could use her as leverage and have him retrieve the Crystal for us? That way we save resources and lure him to us in one fell swoop."

Golbez stared at him approvingly. "Ah, I see you're getting better at this. Very well," he nodded. "We will monitor the situation. When the time comes, it will be you to give him the message."

Kain nodded. "Of course, mi'lord." He looked pleased with himself.

The rest of the meal went on in silence, and eventually Kain and Barbariccia drifted off to their respective duties. Golbez supposed that Kain went to the woman and Barbariccia to the Elves.

"I'm still concerned about your obsession with this Cecil," said Rubicante. "You're going out of your way to defeat him. I agree that he's a threat, but I fail to understand why you're playing these cat and mouse games."

Golbez snorted. "He amuses me, Rubicante. I've never had a rival before, someone who is able to match me turn for turn. It fascinates me, the challenge he presents me."

Rubicante sighed, but a look of understanding passed over his features. "I suppose, in this instance … Yes, it is excusable. You have done exactly as has been asked of you, and to allow this one indulgence … I see no harm in it."

Golbez smiled. "It's my incentive?"

The responding laugh was full of good humor. "Part of it … You know your objective, and you will succeed. I have faith in that."

"I will not disappoint you," and Golbez smiled.

* * *

Cecil sat, cloaked, in a corner of the pub, nursing a mug of mulled cider in his hands. He watched the rowdy soldiers in the corner attentively, biding his time, waiting. The presence of a particular bald man troubled him deeply, but, being a reasonable man he figured there was some explanation for the Monk's strange behavior.

His green eyes shone with determination beneath his hood as he watched the rowdy group, who had just begun to sing bar songs off-key and at the top of their lungs. They were old songs that everyone of Baron-bred stock knew before they could walk, but Cecil could tell by the glow in their eyes that they were monsters, wolves in sheep's clothing. These were not real men at all.

The hostess drifted over to him with a bowl of beef stew, giving him a pleading look from underneath the hem of her bonnet. He knew she must have been groped and fondled all day and night long. He could tell by the look on the bartender's face that he wanted to lash out and deal with the problem himself, but his wife had stopped him. He could almost hear their conversation; all about putting their business in jeopardy, as well as their lives.

Cecil understood the man's frustrations.

He had been watching them for several hours, unable to determine whether or not the men had the thing that he sought. It was the key to Baron's Sewers, the underground, that was the prize he had his eye upon. He had figured that the key might be in the hands of such guards when he realized that they weren't openly allowed to leave the castle, as the others had said. He concluded that they must be sneaking out through the sewers, which connected Vangrad proper to the castle, and so it was likely that they had the key.

It was then that his eyes caught the glint of silver from the belt loop on the Monk's belt. Silently, he thanked Gaelach for the provision, and rose his spoon to his lips to begin to eat, biding his time to look for an opening. He'd finished about half his bowl when one of the monster-soldiers tried to get particularly grabby with the hostess.

His cloak rippled as he leaped between the woman and the soldiers, moving at a speed that was inhuman. It was an ability he had discovered only recently, and he believed it was born of his desire to protect people. He left the woman's attackers stunned when the wrist of the would-be lecher was clasped firmly in his gloved hand. Without an effort, Cecil twisted his arm up, forcing him to twist away. "You do not assault a Lady."

"What the hell -?" hissed the other soldier, the one who was not whimpering in pain as his arm was contorted. The Monk looked too shocked to move.

Cecil released the arm of the other man and dodged left in response as a wild hay-maker attempted to make contact with his head. Without a word, he rushed forward, grabbing the front of his attacker's shirt and throwing him into the cringing man. Both of them flew backwards across the chairs, crashing through a table. The impact stunned them and they did not move.

Cecil turned to Yang, who had finally taken up an offensive position. Instead of immediately being hostile, Cecil decided to use the path of negotiation. "Don't you remember me, Yang?"

The man snorted and jumped forward, far more graceful than the bumbling monster-soldiers Cecil had recently incapacitated. "Die, cur!" came the war cry.

Yang was thick skinned. Cecil knew simply outlasting the Monk was not an option. It was time for some tough love, so to speak; he would have to beat sense into the man. Darting forward once more, Cecil began his counter attack. He was nowhere near as graceful as Yang, but Baron's style of martial art was direct and forceful, so what he lacked in finesse he made up for in power. It was a style focused on getting your opponent on the ground. Once that was achieved, you would literally beat your opponent to death.

Death, of course, was not Cecil's goal.

The Paladin grabbed the collar of the Monk's tunic, driving him backward using both leverage and brute strength. The man's back slammed into the table and Cecil pinned the struggling man there. He simply stared into the man's eyes until the other ceased his struggling, clarity slowly returning to his eyes.

After a moment he blinked at Cecil, grasping his wrists in confusion. With a smile, Cecil let him up. "I see you are yourself again, my friend."

"Who are you? What happened here? What … what happened to me?" His tone was bewildered, as if he had been lost and was just realizing this.

His eyes widened as his memories slowly returned to him. "I … I …" He stared at his hands for a long moment before composing himself. "Please, forgive me. It seems that I was taken advantage of. Normally I would never have done such a thing."

"You shouldn't be hard on yourself," said Cecil. "They manipulated you … And believe me, I know the feeling." Of course, he knew full well his identity was still hidden by his hood.

Yang's eyes fell onto the unconscious monster-soldiers. "We should take them outside so they will not cause trouble when they wake."

Cecil nodded in agreement and helped Yang toss the fellows out into the street, before turning back to the barkeeper and his wife. "I will pay for the damages," Cecil offered to them in way of apology.

"You've done more than enough," said the barkeeper with a grin on his face several miles wide. "Just one question stranger …, " he motioned to Cecil's hood.

"Oh," he laughed a bit at the request. "Forgive my rudeness." With that he lowered his hood. "I must protect my identity from some of your patrons. I meant no harm." From the corner of his eyes, Cecil saw Yang's eyes widen, but before he could deal with the Monk he had to attend to his hosts. He bowed to the couple. "I am Cecil Harvey, and I have returned from my travels to liberate Baron."

Yang stepped forward, hand half extended. "Cecil? You're not dead … ? The wreckage … ?"

"It's good to see you again, Yang," Cecil turned to the Monk, a smile on his face as he reached out to pat the man on the back. "I washed ashore in Mysida and found my way here."

The Monk searched the room with his eyes, as if looking to find familiar faces. "What of the others?"

"I was just about to ask you the same," Cecil said, his voice suddenly grim; it was Rydia that he thought of the most.

The Monk's face fell and he shook his head, and deep sadness gripped Cecil's heart.

"Excuse me?" said the hostess, her voice pulling Cecil from his thoughts. "You're Lord Captain Harvey?" He noted that her voice was filled with hesitance. "We had heard … You had died in The Mist Pass during the rock slide."

Cecil turned back to her and smiled kindly. "I assure you I am very much alive." He spread his hands out, face open. "A carter named Maude saved me from certain death in the wilds."

"Then you really are here to help us?" The barkeep looked a bit disbelieving, but incredibly grateful. "To fight King Harvey?"

Cecil's face fell. "Who ever that man is, sir, I assure you he is no longer the man who raised me." His fists clenched tightly together. "Whatever has happened to him … " He shook his head. "I have to stop him."

"And after that, what happens?"

Cecil turned his eyes to Yang. "What … What do you mean?"

"After we defeat the forces that occupy Baron, what happens?"

Cecil frowned. He had an idea of what Yang was implying, but he didn't like it. Softly, he shook his head. "I cannot do that yet, Yang." He looked to his friend, aware of the other two pairs of eyes that stared upon him. "Not until I destroy Golbez and rescue Rosa. Until then, the world won't ever be safe. Whether or not I become king matters little."

He watched as the Monk's eyes became fond. "You've grown."

Cecil returned the look with a smile when he suddenly remembered the key. "Oh, Yang! Your belt! There's a key on it that we need … "

The Monk touched his belt loop absently, his fingers brushing the smooth metal of the key, surprise registering on his face as he pulled the object from his belt. "This is … "

"What we need to launch an offensive on our enemies," said Cecil with a curt nod. He turned back to the patrons of the pub and offered another bow. "May Gaelach bless you."

They exchanged a looked, smiled at him, bowed in respect, and returned his blessing graciously.

Together he and the Monk exited the building, Yang turning to Cecil in the process."Tell me, what happened to you in Mysidia? The man before me now and the man I remember are not the same person."

And with another smile, Cecil began to speak of all that had transpired.


End file.
